


Apprentice

by Carmin71



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Dalaran, Friendship, Gen, Mages, Magic, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2019-11-13 09:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmin71/pseuds/Carmin71
Summary: A young woman begins her magical studies with a beleaguered Kirin Tor during the early days of the Northrend Campaign. Thrust into the conflict, she learns to cope with the realities of an existential war, discovers that there is more to being a good mage than knowledge and power, and finds friendship long after she had given up looking for it.Slight AU. CW: Adult Themes, but not a Slashfic. Crosspost from FF.net.





	1. Chapter 1

Lyra blinked awake as the morning light played across her face. Her seventeenth birthday had been two months ago, and today was the day of the annual Kirin Tor Provings. Today was the day! No more cursing their thrice-damned age requirement. No more having to sneak into the library under an invisibility spell in order to read a few books. Today she would finally have access to knowledge of magic legitimately.

She conjured herself breakfast with after a few seconds of channelling the ambient magic of the world into her palm, and ate it in front of her small room's window. It tasted of cardboard, but she was used to it. It wasn't the best of views, the next tower over blocked most of the vista. But there was a small patch on the right of the curving glass through which she could see the snow covered caps of the storm peaks. She would have liked a bigger room, but there wasn't much you could get with an orphans stipend.

She still hadn't decided by how much she was going to pass the test. Should she wow the Masters, or just do well enough to stand out and ensure that someone picked her as their Apprentice? Did she want to go for 'unusually skilled' or 'prodigy?' Prodigy meant she would definitely get a full apprenticeship, though she wouldn't help with how she was shunned. Unusually skilled might make her non-threatening enough to be more popular... but then again, it might not too. Besides, what she really wanted was to learn magic.

She finished her breakfast, and threw on her nicest clothes – some slightly baggy white pants with a purple and gold belt-skirt thing, a white corset-thing that left most of her stomach bare, which Lyra blamed Lady Proudmoore for making fashionable, soft brown boots, and a long purple hooded cloak that was only slightly threadbare. Lyra would have preferred a simple tunic, but unfortunately there was something of an unofficial uniform for young mages in Dalaran, and she didn't want to not be taken as an Apprentice because she was judged to have poor taste.

She closed the door behind her and locked it with the most complex locking spell she knew. Crime, outside of the underbelly, was pretty minimal, but it never hurt to be careful. Particularly since anyone who managed to get past her door would be in for a world of pain from the heavily warded interior, and she didn't want to hurt someone if they got the wrong door. Strolling down the corridor and stairs, nodding to a few of her neighbours she was on friendly terms with, Lyra headed for the Violet Citadel.

She was rather early, and so she headed into the nearby bakery and bought herself a sweet-roll, a rare treat for her, which she took and munched on the citadel's steps.

"I told you Modera, I'm not going to take one!" came a petulant voice from down the street, her pointed ears making the voices clear as crystal. "I don't care if its the done thing, I'm far too busy with my research and the war against the Scourge to take on an Apprentice."

"Apprentices are very helpful though, and its good to have someone watch your back," replied a woman, probably Modera – who Lyra knew was one of the mages on the Council of Six. "I worry about you Khadgar, out there, all alone..."

"Apprentices are almost always borderline useless for several years, I can't wait that long. I often need to venture into unsafe places," replied the petulant voice, who must have been Khadgar. Lyra knew all about him, the legendary Apprentice of the last Guardian had been elected to a spot on the Council of Six only months after returning from Outland, and was regarded as the most powerful mage on Azeroth, beating even Lady Proudmoore.

"You promised you would attend!" said Modera.

"Yes yes yes, all right. I'll attend. But I'm not taking an Apprentice!"

"Khadgar!"

"Well look, if one of them can... I don't know, summon a water elemental, then I'll take them, how about that?" he said, petulance turning to irritation. Lyra grinned, well if it would land her a teacher like the great Khadgar, then one water elemental, coming up.

"That is unfair, how are they supposed to do that without training? It takes most Apprentices years to get that good," protested Modera. They were close now, only a few dozen meters away.

"Exactly my point. The world is unfair Modera; do you think a ghoul wouldn't gnaw off their face just because they were my Apprentice?" said Khadgar, before stopping mid stride and turning to face her.

"That looks nice. Tell me young lady, where did you get that?"

"Oh? Um, the roll? Just across the street there," said Lyra pointing, surprised by the sudden question.

"Ah, thank-you, I think I might have to treat myself. Well if you'll excuse me Modera, I am going to get one of those delicious looking rolls. I'll see you inside," said Khadgar.

"At least think about what I've said?" Modera asked. "And you're going to get fat if you keep eating cake all the time."

"Yes yes yes," he said, striding towards the bakery, clearly fixated on getting himself a sugary treat.

Modera sighed, before looking at Lyra. "Hello, are you here for the Provings?"

Lyra nodded, "Yes."

"Well, good luck," said Modera, smiling at her and beginning to ascend the stairs.

A few more young people began milling about the entrance to the citadel, until twenty minutes later there were over a hundred people standing around the steps. Mostly Humans, but a smatterings of Gnomes, Trolls, and High Elves too. She was the only Half-Elf, though that wasn't that unusual, even in a city like Dalaran, where Elves, Gnomes, Humans and even Trolls freely mixed, there were only a few of them since Half-Elves were next to impossible to conceive. She looked around and tried to smile, but unfortunately, like usual, not that many people were interested in talking to her. It might be a multiracial city, but most people her age stuck in cliques of their own species; which unfortunately for her, meant not with her. She fought down a stab of sorrow and anger, instead focusing on running over her spells in her mind.

Then they were called inside by a balding man in fiery robes, and they all walked up the hundred steps and into the main vestibule. It was a large, spacious room, with a tiled floor in the vague shape of a runic array. Opposite the entrance was a grand stone staircase that led up to a second mezzanine level that overlooked the first floor. It was filled with around a dozen mages, who were there looking for potential Apprentices.

There two 'streams' of magical education available in Dalaran, both beginning at seventeen. Most people at the proving, if they demonstrated the necessary aptitudes, would receive a 'general education;' a type of magical university system. They would have classes, lectures, tests, practicals, and lots of different teachers before finishing after five years and graduating with the title of 'mage,' assuming they passed the final test.

The other, more desirable, 'stream' of education involved landing a Master at the Provings. Rather than the general education, they would receive one on one teaching from a Senior Mage, who needed at least ten years experience to qualify to take on an Apprentice, and to pass a test themselves. It was possible to be offered an apprenticeship outside the Provings, but rare. It was also virtually unheard of to be offered a second apprenticeship if the student's first Master died, since it was looked upon as something of a failing on the student's behalf.

The Apprentices would accompany their Masters on their various travels, and were expected to help with research, gathering reagents, various other projects, and whatever tasks the mage undertook for the Kirin Tor. In exchange, Apprentices would learn from them, receive a small stipend from the Kirin Tor, and their mentors would pay for most travel and living expenses, and provide accommodations.  
There was no fixed time for graduation for an apprenticeship, rather, the Apprentice would learn from the Master until either it was deemed that the Apprentice wasn't capable of progressing any further, in which case they would take the same final test that the students in the general education stream took, or until the Master declared they had nothing left to teach them, and named them a fully fledged Mage. Those few lucky enough to land an Archmage as a teacher could even progress straight from Apprentice to Archmage, if they managed to reach their Master's level of skill; though such apprenticeship usually were measured in decades rather than years, and normally their Apprentices ended up just taking the final test.

Lyra felt a curtain of magic wash over her as she crossed the threshold of the citadel, and recognised the magic as something that would dispel illusions and reveal hidden demonic forms. It had probably been put in place during the last legion invasion to combat the problem of Dreadlord infiltration.

They were called up one by one, alphabetically. Lyra cursed her second name. Really, what sort of a family name was Zaraithus? She settled in to wait, watching her fellows attempts. The Provings were fairly standardised. First a prospective Apprentice had to demonstrate their ability to manipulate fire, frost and the Arcane in their raw states. Then there were a handful of other spells that one was expected to know. Then a few that most were expected to try and fail, before a final demonstration of the Apprentices choice. Lyra ran over the spell to conjure a water elemental in her mind. She had read it, a few years before after sneaking into the Kirin Tor library, and 'successfully' performed it at least twice. Yes, she could do this.

The skill of the prospective Apprentices varied wildly. Some could conjure whole fireballs or even giant gouts of flame, while others could barely make more than a few sparks. Some didn't know even basic spells like slow fall, while others attempted and managed to conjure mana shields. For their practical demonstrations most chose simple but flashy spells, like a frost nova, or an arcane explosion. A few demonstrated polymorphs on some target dummies that had been set up, and a Troll managed to blink across the room, though he staggered from the effort.

"Lyra Zaraithus?" called the mage in fiery robes, who was acting as facilitator. She was the last to be called, the rest were all waiting on the other side of the room having already done their Provings.  
She stepped forward, heart pounding despite the fact she knew she was better at magic than any of the others before her.

"Please demonstrate your ability to manipulate fire," asked the facilitator, who she thought was called Archmage Runeweaver.

Lyra nodded, and closed her eyes, she drew in a deep breath then, feeling the magic build within her, before snapping open her eyes and arms up and releasing a gout of flames up into the space between the two floors. Rather than letting it splutter out, she twisted her arms around, shaping the fire into a medium sized roaring Dragon that swooped around the room twice before she allowed it to dissipate. There were exited murmurs from the gallery above her. Fire was her best area, and a good way to start off.

"Remarkable," said the facilitator, before remembering his role. "Ah, please demonstrate your ability with ice magic."

Lyra nodded, took another breath, and then in a swift motion dropped to a knee and punched at the ground. Ice rocketed up in a giant shard from the point of impact, lancing upwards at least two meters. There was more exited murmuring issued from the gallery, and a few Mages pointed. She was by this point, doubtlessly the first choice for all the Mages on the second floor.

"Please dispel your ice," said the facilitator. She did so, before he asked. "Now, demonstrate you proficiency with the Arcane."

Lyra drew her hands together, building up a charge of magic, before she separated the positive and the negative energies and pushed out her hand in a jab the created a lance of arcane power. It shot into the provided wooden dummy, already slightly warped and burnt and missing parts from previous demonstrations. Her spell vaporised the top half of it.

She panted slightly, that might have been overdoing it somewhat.

There were several more mundane spells: conjuration of food and water, the slow fall charm, basic mage armour, scrying, simple illusion, that sort of thing. Then a few harder things: mana shields, fire wards, telekinesis, and a banish spell (though they didn't actually have a demon to do it on, but rather a dummy that registered a correctly performed spell). All were not terribly difficult for Lyra, though she was glad she only had to do a minor banish, since that was a dastardly difficult spell and she didn't full understand the theory behind it, and telekinesis was always pretty hard.  
"Finally, please perform a spell of your own choice," said the facilitator, stepping back slightly.

Lyra smiled and looked up, catching Khadgar's eye. He was watching her intently. When their eyes met she winked, and one of his eyebrow’s quirked upwards. Then she drew apart her hands and summoned ice, shaping in a two meter high column, before she shifted part of the spell to Arcane and moulded it into the shape of a giant floating mermaid, complete with a spear. The wrist bindings were the last to be added, and once the summoned bindings snapped together the elemental began to move, shifting and regarding the room as it waited for instruction. It was overall too blocky, the face too wonky, and she could have made the tail more defined, but that wouldn't really detract from its effectiveness.

It was far beyond what any of the other prospects had managed.

There were gasps and a few claps from the second floor, Lyra saw Archmage Modera snickering and punching Khadgar in the shoulder. He blinked for a few moments, before sighing and nodding his head and saying something that even her sensitive pointed ears couldn’t pick up on.

The actual offering of apprenticeship was a fairly informal affair, with prospective Apprentices and Masters mingling on the first floor, though by custom the most senior mages among the group got first pick. While they waited as the mages conferred upstairs briefly, a few of the prospects suddenly seemed to have realised that she might be an interesting person to know. They smiled, complemented her performance, and patted her on the back. Suddenly it didn't seem to matter she was a Half-Elf. She scowled internally, 'oh, so now she was cool?,' but didn't let the spite reach her face, instead smiling and nodding her thanks.

Khadgar made a beeline for her as he walked down the stairs.

"I take if from that performance that you heard my discussion with Modera this morning, and decided that you would like me as a teacher," he said.

"That is right sir," she said, nodding.

"Well, I suppose I did give Modera my word," he said, scratching his chin stubble and eyeing her speculatively. "You are aware that being my Apprentice will involve no small amount of danger? You will get into life and death fights alongside me. And assuming you do not hit a wall in your studies, an apprenticeship with me could last decades."

"Yes sir, I know, but the Kirin Tor is at war, I would be in danger with any other Master too. I also wouldn't learn anywhere near as much with anyone else."

"Hah! Flattery will get to everywhere. Now, one rule: none of that sir business; my name is Khadgar, and I shall call you Apprentice, agreed?"

He held out his hand.

She shook it and grinned, "Agreed, Khadgar."

* * *

A.N: You probably won't read this. I never read Author notes. Maybe I'm a bad person? Who knows.

This was and is my first posted work of fanfiction, and I have recently picked it up after a year of writing other stuff that shall probably never see the light of day. It was originally posted on Ff.net, but I wanted to see what this website was like as well.

I'm putting this in the M category because I don't like being told what I can or can't do, not because I am planning on writing a smutty story. Though some of the chapters I have written so far are pretty violent, and swearing is a normal part of Human language, so if it is appropriate for a character, they might swear. So maybe its a good thing that I am a petite-anarchist.

I welcome criticism, though I might not always listen to you. Sorry.

I have no parings planned which will affect the story in dramatic way, and it will mainly be focused on adventure and discussions between the two main characters: Khadgar and his Apprentice (from who's perspective the story will be told). They are not going to be pared up, so if you're looking for a Merlin/Nimue situation you will be disappointed. Khadgar might end up with someone, but it won't feature heavily. I don't know, maybe I will change my mind and in chapter fifteen and he will wed Alexstrasza and Krasus. I could do anything!

The world is also AU, not because I'm planning on drastically changing things in Azeroth, but mainly because I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of the story, and don't want to have to write things I think are silly. Case in point, why wasn't Khadgar in the second expansion? He is basically indistinguishable from Rhonin as far as I can tell in terms of personality, well, maybe a bit more silly, and admittedly I haven't read the books. Rhonin's death also seemed contrived from what I read on the wiki; why didn't he tackle Jaina through the portal rather than pushing her? He didn't need to die at Theramore for it to be dramatic. And then Blizzard just needed to find another kooky mage man to run about for quests. Maybe I'm remembering it wrong. Oh well.

There are also some things which I feel are pretty fucked up in the game which are glossed over because the goodies do them, I'm not going to do that, they will be points of tension.

The story is going to follow cannon more or less in terms of order of events and broad outline, but the particulars are going to be different. In particular the warfare tactics in the game are just silly; there is no way a muscular person with a sword wouldn't get melted at fifty paces by someone who can set them on fire with their mind. I'll probably muck up the order of things at some point though, since I'm mainly working off memory of playing the game on and off for years.

I'm also sorry if Khadgar's puns are weak, I'm not very good at them myself.


	2. Chapter 2

In the two weeks since the Provings Lyra had learnt a few things about her Master. Firstly, that he was _brilliant_. Secondly, that he liked to, whenever possible, teach, do research, and spend his free time in coffee shops eating cake and drinking coffee. Thirdly, that he had an awful sense of humour.

"Well, I suppose that puts _paid_ to that," said Khadgar as he handed over a few coins in exchange for two large slices of chocolate cake. Lyra groaned as he handed her the cake that he had been insistent she try. "Now now Apprentice, there is nothing quite like a good pun."

"Why didn't I ask Archmage Modera take me on," said Lyra. "The Troll man she took probably doesn't have to put up with this."

"Hah! You head hunted _me_ remember," said Khadgar, making his way upstairs to the balcony overlooking Crystalsong forest that had become her unofficial classroom and study. The cafe staff had even carved 'Khadgar's table' into the edge of the wood where they usually sat. "Which reminds me, I've been meaning to ask, how on Azeroth did you know the spell to summon an elemental?"

"Promise you won't be angry?"

"I promise I won't be angry Lyra," he said after frowning at her for a few moments. "Unless you were consorting with demons. Then I suppose I shall have be quite cross."

"I used to sneak into the Kirin Tor library and read," said Lyra as they sat at their usual table.

"How? It is warded against – well under-aged people for a start," said Khadgar, slicing off a bit of cake with his fork and putting it into his mouth.

"Yeah, badly," said Lyra, trying to cake herself. It was nice. "It took me a few weeks to figure out, but the second entrance's runic array can be overloaded for four and half seconds with a simple modulating arcane pulse if you shoot it at the upper right section of the door-frame. Whoever inscribed the ward didn't balance it properly."

"I see, I shall pass that on to the library staff," said Khadgar. "The cake is good isn't it?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Thank-you," No one had ever bought her cake before Khadgar.

"And how were you not seen?" he asked after a few moments.

"An Invisibility spell. It held long enough for me to get into the stacks, and I went when there weren't many people and kept my hood up. People just thought I was a tall gnome," she said, putting more cake into her mouth.

"How old were you when you started this?" he said frowning.

"I don't know, about eleven?" she shrugged.

"You could cast invisibility at eleven?" he asked, sitting back and regarding her with a quizzical expression. "How did you learn to do that without books?"

"Well it was a pretty bad invisibility spell, but it actually isn't that much more complicated than simple illusions, you just need more focus – which you get by practising, which I did lots of. It took me ages to figure out to stop leaving an outline and thin streaks of colour on my own though."

"You continue to surprise me Apprentice," he said. "Now, as a theoretical exercise, can you tell me three other ways you could bypass the library wards?"

Lyra thought for a few moments. "You could go in through one of the upper windows, those aren't warded."

"That isn't a spell..." said Khadgar. "Though I will tell the librarians about that too."

"But it would work," she said, giving him a toothy grin. "I even did it once."

"Three _magical_ ways to enter and get past the warded library door undetected," he said.

"A broad spectrum high amplitude arcane pulse would fry the detection wards, then they wouldn't know when you crossed the threshold."

"But also alert everyone in Dalaran that you were breaking in," he countered.

"You didn't say I had to be sneaky," she said with a smile.

"Fine, two more _sneaky_ ways of getting into the library using spells."

"Hmm..." she said thinking, and then after a few moments, "A botched lodestone teleport spell."

"Explain," he said, sitting forward, cake forgotten.

"Well I couldn't do it myself of course, but if I understand the theory right, if you abort a teleport spell your body gets deposited back where it was, but can be deflected by feedback or other arcane fields in the area. So, it should be possible to direct the feedback to ricochet yourself a few meters to one side while still de-materialised, onto the other side of the wards. It wouldn't register as a blink because it isn't bending space, so it wouldn't be warded against, and your energy signature could be masked by casting a dampening spell on yourself first, so it wouldn't detect your magical core."

Khadgar thought for a moment. "Good. Very good. And how would defend against such a tactic?"

Lyra thought for a few minutes, before eventually admitting defeat. "I'm not sure, short of coating the inside of the building in roving wards, which would be impractical and irritating for the Mages trying to study there. Not to mention taking forever to inscribe on all the walls and pillars."

"What about including an amplifying array in the door ward?"

"Well... oh I see," she said. "You'd have to recalculate the entire array, but it would mean you would be detected."

"Yes, very good Lyra. One more though."

Lyra wracked her brains for a few minutes, before grinning. "You cut a hole in the wall."

"I said _stealthy_."

"Easy, just do it around the back, near where that big tree is. It would come out in the murloc anthropology section – I've never seen anyone in there. Then just stick the wall back on. If you used a rapidly oscillating ice blade it wouldn't leave any real mess, though you'd have to use a muffling spell."

"You have a devious mind my Apprentice. But I still feel that is cheating since your not getting passed the door. One more, please."

Lyra munched on her cake and looked out over Crystalsong Forest. She was silent for almost ten minutes. "You could polymorph yourself, the wards wouldn't trigger for an animal."

"And how, pray tell, would you remember to walk through the door once you were polymorphed?" asked Khadgar.

"Easy, throw some fish through the threshold, then turn yourself into a cat."

"Oh yes, very good! It certainly would be hard to stop something so... _fishy,"_ he said, smiling.

Lyra groaned.

"Very well, that is three then," he said. "Now, for your next project I want you to draw me a door warding array with both an amplifying component and a polymorph detector, to stop menaces like you. It is going to be your gift to the head librarian, along with an apology for flouting their rules. You are also going to attempt to come up with a way to shield detection wards from a high amplitude arcane pulse, bonus points if you can include the latter into the array."

"Yes Khadgar," she mumbled, taking another bite of cake before pulling out her notebook, quill, and inkwell.

"You must also promise me that you aren't going to cut through any walls of Kirin Tor buildings, at least until I figure a way to ward them properly from 'oscillating ice blades.'" he said, making finger quotes.

"Alright, no cutting walls until you will notice me doing it," she nodded, beginning to do some calculations.

"Preferably not afterwards either," he said, laughing and standing. "Ask me for help if you get stuck with something. Now. I am going to get some more cake and a coffee, and then read the latest issue of _Duelling Monthly_. Coffee?"

It ended up taking her almost a month to figure out how to protect detection wards from high energy arcane pulses, and required her to design a seventeen layer ward, rather than the usual two.

"This is impressive Apprentice," said Khadgar. "Very innovative to have multiple detection layers that trip one-shot pulse displacers when they fry, in turn protecting detection layers further in. You even put in a regenerative component so it would work more than once, thought each would take almost 30 seconds to recharge."

They were sat together in a small tent in the Dragonblight, specifically at Star's Rest. They were both huddled around a conjured fire, up to which they had drawn their sleeping mats so as not to be sitting in the snow.

"That's why it's seventeen layers, it would take five Mages working one after the other to be able to disable them all before the first one they fried regenerated," said Lyra. "Any fewer Mages and they would zap themselves from the arcane static – there is a reason Mages don't use high amplitude pulses normally. You could simply add more of the triplicate layers if you wanted to make it even more difficult to bypass, I calculated that a 177 layer ward would be impossible to completely fry, since the ambient charge in the area would build up so high that casting the pulses would be impossible for anyone, not just a Mage who had already cast one. There is a graph and the math on the back. But I figured five Mages letting off those pulses would be so obvious that it was getting ridiculous by that point; also, my hand was getting sore."

"Very clever," nodded Khadgar. "Unfortunately, even 17 layers would take days to inscribe, and I doubt the library wants to spend that much time keeping children out. Though I will have it added it to the Violet Citadel's defences, so very well done Apprentice. I'll even try and find someone to do the 177 layer ward, though they might baulk at that. I may well pass off more jobs like this to you in the future; Modera was right, apprentices _are_ useful!"

"Just don't give me the 177 layer ward as a job," she said, flushing from the praise.

"You couldn't anyway," said Khadgar.

"What - no I definitely could!" she spluttered, outraged that he thought she couldn't carve a runic array she had designed onto a wall.

"But you're already my ward, and everyone knows that two _wards_ cancel each other out!" Khadgar said, grinning the stupid grin he made when he thought he was being clever.

Lyra groaned.

They were at Star's Rest to 'snoop about' as Khadgar put it. There had been some disturbing reports circulating about a group of Mages messing with the ley lines to the south, and Khadgar had taken it upon himself to investigate in case the Scourge was involved, or in case something malicious was planned. Still, the last hour of their gyphon flight had been through a blizzard, so they had decided to seek shelter and thaw out a little before going to investigate.

Before they had set off Khadgar had presented her with a set of heavily enchanted clothes that matched his, declaring that her Dalaranese fashion was inappropriate and inadequate for adventuring. Lyra was pleased, not only because the long dark blue-grey tunic, pants and armoured shoulder-cloak were comfortable, warm, and protective, but mainly because it made her immediately identifiable as his apprentice; it gave her a feeling of belonging. He had even had a silver raven crafted, the symbol she had inherited from Medivh, and made into a clasp for the cloak. Her black hair wasn't all that different from his grey either, if it hadn't been made clear from the way the tunic hugged her figure that she was female, or because she was almost a foot shorter than him, they might be mistaken for one another at a distance.

Eventually the storm eased, and since there was still a few hours of daylight left, they set off Southward, towards the ocean. The Kaldorei that ran Star's Rest eyed them wearily, but Khadgar just gave them a jaunty wave. Lyra wasn't so bold. The women with the glaives in particular were pretty scary looking, and she knew they didn't like Mages very much, or Half-Elves for that matter.

They trudged through the snow in silence, ears – particularly hers – peeled. Khadgar sank into the snow up to his knees, and grumbled about 'blasted dainty Half-Elves' when she walked on the top without sinking, so their going was slow.

She held up a hand when she heard voiced ahead, through a stand of trees. She could make out two different voices, though they were slightly too far away to discern the words. Khadgar stopped and listened.

"I can't hear anything," he whispered.

"Through there, maybe... three hundred meters," she whispered back, pointing.

"Alright, let's take a closer look. This is near where the leyline tampering was detected," he nodded, trying to advance through the snow as stealthily as possible.

_Crunch crunch crunch_ went his boots in the thick snow.

"They are going to hear you coming a mile away Khadgar, I'll get closer, and have a listen. You stay here," whispered Lyra.

"Be careful apprentice," he said. "If you get into trouble, send up a wave of purple sparks."

She nodded, before slinking forward into the trees.

The voices gradually began to become clearer, until she could make out the words.

"... feel that we should give them the ultimatum _before_ we knock their city out of the sky," said a woman with a lyrical voice. Lyra froze for a moment, before lowering herself to the ground and creeping forward on her stomach. Knock a city out of the sky? They talking about Dalaran!

"You doubt the Master's plan!?" snarled a man as Lyra came to the crest of a small wooded hill and peered over. There were two high elves dressed in blue and bronze robes around thirty meters down the hill, visible through the sparse trees.

"Come now Azuregos, we are Dragons, not Dragonspawn, since when was it a crime to question something in the blue flight?" replied the woman. Lyra frowned in confusion, why would the blue flight want to harm the Kirin Tor? They were supposed to be allies, albeit somewhat loose ones.

"Perhaps this is why Malygos never took you as a consort Talagosa, you lack _vision,"_ snapped Azuregos.

"You can be very cruel..." said Talagosa in a soft voice after a few moments.

"Simply do as you are told and finish realigning the fifth displacer, once that is done we can finally be rid of those reckless mortals," snapped Azuregos. "Now. I need to go and prepare our forces for the attack on Wintergarde. Do not fail Talagosa."

Lyra heard some footfalls, and through the trees she could see a high elf man walk into a clearing, his feet dragging through the snow, before his body rippled and lengthened. It grew and grew, shifting until where the man had stood was an immense Blue Dragon. Judging from his size and the long goatee and hair that sprouted from his head, an ancient one. He took off, wind whipping around him and buffeting even Lyra's prone form on the hill. She hunched down as he soared overhead, circling once before heading north east over the snowy hills of the Dragonblight. He didn't seem to have seen her. Normally she would have just used an invisibility spell, but withtwo apparently ancient Blue Dragons in the area, she was almost certain that a Mage of her skill, or lack thereof, would have been noticed immediately.

Lyra crept closer, until the trees parted to reveal the ruin of an ancient elven tower, beyond which she could see glimpses of the frigid northern ocean. In front of the ruin was a small camp. A dozen Blue Dragonspawn with spears milled about a large blue tent, looking rather bored. The woman she had seen speak was striding towards the ruin, flanked by two more Dragonspawn. Apparently off to go and realign the leyline.

Lyra wracked her brains, she knew that realigning leylines was _very_ tricky business, and that only an Archmage would even attempt such a thing – though an ancient Blue Dragon would be likely even more skilled than most Archmages. But the purpose of such a thing eluded her. How could they use leylines in an attack? Unless... Lyra's eyes widened. Oh, that was bad. Very, very bad. They were going to redirect it along with others, and form a new point of convergence, and if they used five or more lines – as Azuregos had implied, it would be _explosive_. She doubted Dalaran would have defences against a Leyline rupture suddenly forming below it, since the Blue Dragons were probably the only group apart from maybe the Kirin Tor that would be capable of pulling off such an attack. And they were supposed to be their allies...

Lyra shuddered. She needed to get back to Khadgar.

But did she have time? Azuregos had made out there was only one last realignment they needed to perform, which would mean Dalaran would be attacked any moment now. No, she was out of time. Steeling herself, Lyra focused as hard as she could, wrapping herself in an invisibility spell. She hoped Talagosa was too busy to notice her amateurish spell-work.

Then she crept forward, skirting the camp. The Dragonkin didn't notice the soft sound of her footfalls, nor the millimetre deep imprints she left in the snow as she skirted the camp. She was lucky, for reasons that Mages still argued about the physics of, that elves didn't really leave noticeable footprints in snow.

Rather than go through the same entrance as the Dragon, she went around the side of the tower, carefully scrambling up a collapsed wall that formed a rough ramp. It was covered in snow and ice, and her hands quickly became numb from grasping the ancient masonry, but she still managed to get onto the tower's ruined second floor. She approached the edge on her belly, and peered down.

Below here she could see Talagosa stood on a ruined piece of masonry that jutted over a glowing purple chasm which ran through the ruined tower. The chasm had been perpendicular to her approach, which is why she hadn't seen it. Some kind of glowing blue orb that hovered over the gap, and every few seconds some arcane lightning would arc between it and the chasm floor.

Lyra focused on the flow of energy with her mystical senses, trying to understand what was happening. The orb seemed to be acting like some kind of lens, slowly but surely turning a sliver of the leyline's energy from its natural, easterly orientation up towards the north, creating a kind of micro leyline. Lyra assumed that Talagosa was making a guide first, and once that was correctly aligned, the displacer would shift the enter line along the new angle. She tried to calculate the angle it would need to move to to intersect under Dalaran. Assuming its natural orientation was 0, it would need to be realigned roughly 68 degrees northward. The micro-leyline felt like it was at at least 67 degrees, and creeping slowly upward as the seconds passed.

Lyra knew she needed to destroy the displacer, and that she needed to do it now. That would at least give Dalaran time to either move or devise some kind of defence. If she didn't stop it, tens of thousands would die, and the spear of the war effort against the Scourge would be broken.

Khadgar would hear the explosion and find out what had happened. He would be able to warn them. Taking a deep breath and realising what she was about to do was probably suicidal, she drew as much arcane power as she could into her fist, before hurling it at the displacer. A great lance, larger than she had managed at the provings shot out, impacting the orb.

Then the world went a bit mad.

Great jolts of arcane lightning raced over the building as the orb exploded in a surge of arcane energy, and there was a blinding flash of white light that filled the ruins. Lyra put her hands over her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

A strange keening sound filled the air, as if a giant plate of metal was being ripped apart, and the ground shook. Somehow the immense arcs of displaced energy didn't run through her prone body, and after a few seconds of tightly squeezed shut eyes Lyra noticed that she appeared to still be alive. Then she heard an enraged yell that shifted from a lyrical voice to a rumbling roar. And when she opened her eyes she was faced by an enormous Blue Dragon, sitting on the floor below and bearing its teeth only meters from her tiny body. Some detached part of Lyra noted that this one didn't have a goatee, and its hair was slightly longer.

"Insufferable mortal!" roared the Dragon, drawing its head back and widening its jaws. Lyra pushed her hands backwards, rolling painfully back across the ruined second floor and down the 'ramp' she had climbed up earlier. Her body bounced and tumbled as above her a frigid blast of icy magic destroyed the ancient masonry. She span downwards and skidded to a stop clear of the tower, spitting out snow.

"There is a mortal! Dragonspawn, after her!" she heard rumble from behind.

Uh oh, she had forgotten about those.

She looked upwards from where she had skidded to a stop in the snow. Several of the dopey looking lizard-centaur-things were recovering from their shock and hefting their spears. One of their weapons glowed, and a lance of blue energy tore at the snow in front of her face, sending coating her in the cold white crystals.

Time to leave then.

She scrambled to her feet and raced towards where she had left Khadgar, shooting purple sparks into the air as she ran. Another bolt of blue energy tore at the group near her feet, but thankfully the Dragonspawn were apparently lousy shots. Still she stopped sending up sparks and instead conjured a mana shield behind her. A few moments later a bolt struck her shield, right above her shoulderblades, making her stumble.

There was another roar and a whoosh, before the Dragon, Talagosa, landed in front of her with a mighty crash and a spray of snow. Lyra skidded to a stop. The Dragonspawn that had been chasing her spread out in a semi circle. She was surrounded. Immediately Lyra began to focus, dragging up the energy needed to bend together the space she was in and the space behind the Dragon...

Lightning quick, the dragon pounced on her, knocking her from her feet with one giant claw and pinning her to the ground. Her spell fizzled.

"Perhaps we can talk about this?" asked Lyra, raising her hands.

The Dragon didn't feel like talking apparently, and pressed down harder. Lyra felt several ribs break from the downward pressure, and black spots began to appear in her vision. She forced her magic into an icy shell around her torso that reduced the pressure somewhat, but didn't really let her breath properly.

"Do you have any idea what you have done, tiny Mage!?" they roared. "What _he_ will do to me!?"

Somehow Lyra managed to reply, blood coating her lips. "I stopped... stopped you destroying my home."

The Dragon snapped its sword length teeth millimetres from her face. Lyra's heart thudded in her chest and she tried to squirm, but stopped as pain lanced up through her body.

"That is quite far enough I think, Lady Dragon," came Khadgar's polite voice from the tree line. "I don't think you would like it if I... _disarmed_ you."

Lyra looked backwards and manage to groan; Dragons surely only had legs, not arms.

Khadgar was calmly walking through the knee deep snow, his hand held palm upwards as if he was conjuring a warelight. About a meter above his palm floated an orb that made Lyra a bit cross-eyed to look at. Somehow Khadgar had managed to merge arcane, fire, and ice magic into a single spell. It crackled and shook from the contradictory elements, but Khadgar's face betrayed no difficulty in keeping the orb contained.

The Dragon froze, eyeing the orb and the Mage.

"Khadgar," she spat.

"Indeed. I would ask your name, but alas, I believe introductions will have to wait. Release my Apprentice," he said politely, before adding firmly. " _Now._ "

The Dragon didn't move for a few moments, though the pressure on Lyra's torso stopped increasing, as if considering its options. It could quite easily kill her, Lyra knew, though if it did so from its current position it would be unable to dodge Khadgar, and he was close enough that it might not get a shield up in time. Lyra didn't know exactly what the destructive capabilities of that spell he was holding were, but she reckoned that it would react badly with even the magically resistant hide of a Blue Dragon.

Apparently Talagosa wasn't prepared to take the risk. Slowly the Dragon withdrew, stepping backwards and snarling at the Dragonspawn, they parted, clearing a path between Lyra and Khadgar. Lyra stood shakily, gasping as she cupped her broken ribs, and staggered slowly towards Khadgar, careful to leave a line of fire at the Dragon open for him and a crimson line behind her in the snow. Blood trickled from her mouth and she could feel a sticky warmth spreading under her tunic.

"Are you alright Apprentice?" he asked as she came up next to him and turned to look back at the Dragon.

"Just a few broken ribs," she coughed. Some more blood came out. "Well... maybe some internal bleeding."

"When I say now, grab my arm," he whispered, waiting a few moments before yelling. "Now!"

Khadgar flung his spell at the ground in front of the Dragon, causing an immense explosion of snow. Lyra grabbed his arm, ignoring the pain that raced through her from the sudden motion. There was a roar of anger, then she felt the teleport spell wash over her.

A wave of icy breath and blue energy bolts raced towards them, but they de-materialised just before the barrage reached them.

The magically warmed air of Dalaran was the first thing she noticed as she collapsed in the lodestone room. Spluttering blood onto the tiles.

"Someone get a healer!" yelled Khadgar, before squatting down next to her. Lyra was aware of one of the Mage-Guards rushing out of the room. In a soft voice Khadgar asked, "Now Lyra, would you kindly explain to me how you managed to pick a fight with a Blue Dragon?"

"There was another, he was called Azuregos, he left just after I reached the tower," she replied slowly. "They... they were redirecting the leyline, I - I overheard them speaking."

"Redirecting the leyline, why?"

"Talagosa, the Dragon who got me, was ordered by Malygos to realign it, though she was complaining about it to the other Dragon. She said they should give them – she meant us, the Kirin Tor - an ultimatum before they 'knocked our city out of the sky.' Khadgar they were going to attack Dalaran. Azuregos said hers was the fifth and last line that needed redirection before he left to plan at attack on Wintergarde. I thought..." she stopped briefly to cough up some more blood. "there was no time to get you. I knew that if they made a convergence under Dalaran of five leylines..."

"That it would destabilise the levitation spell..." said Khadgar, aghast.

Lyra started to nod, but stopped as pain jolted up her neck.

"You there!" bellowed Khadgar, pointing at one of the other Mage-Guards watching the lodestone. "Go to the Violet Citadel and tell the Mages managing the city's core to move the city fifty kilometres towards Zul'drak. Maximum speed. _NOW_!" He moved his finger, "You! Go and get a contingent of Mages and watch 'Tyrus the Magnificent;' you will probably find him in 'the Gilded Rose,' or his apartment in the crafts district, he is a Blue Dragon, so be careful, but do not harm him – he may not be working for Malygos."

"Yes Archmage!" said they said, both bolting from the room.

Khadgar turned back to Lyra. "You did well Apprentice. That was quick thinking, though in future, I would prefer you consider your escape options more carefully."

"Wasn't planning on escape. I thought I would die in the backlash," said Lyra weakly, her vision dimming. "Just got lucky I guess."

"Well in that case, I would instead request that you keep future suicide attempts to a minimum," said Khadgar.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

Lyra was sitting up the next day in bed, reading a tome. She now had a decently sized room in the Violet Citadel that was part of Khadgar's apartments. A perk that come with being apprentice to one of the Council of Six. Khadgar was sitting at her desk's chair, rocking back on it as he flicked through some strategic reports on battalions that had been redeployed to the border with Dragonblight. It was going to put a real spanner in the works for the Argent Crusade, not being able to move troops easily across the Dragonblight towards Icecrown. They had already approached the trolls of Zul'drak to try and work out some kind of passage agreement, but no one knew if the isolationist trolls would even consent to see their ambassador.

Khadgar was eating cake while he read, no doubt getting crumbs on her carpet.

Underneath her Pyjamas, Lyra's upper body was wrapped in bandages and covered in strong smelling salve. The Dragon had managed to crush almost all of her ribs, and had caused severe damage to one of her lungs. An orc shaman who had been nearby had managed to set her bones again and repair her lung, though the area was weakened and she had been told she needed to remain in bed for the next few days while everything settled. The view from her window showed in the distance the outer farming terraces of the troll city of Zul'drak, slowly coasting past as the city slid by at a leisurely pace through the sky. The tranquil vista giving no hint that the city of Dalaran was now fighting a war on two fronts.

Yesterday, around ten minutes after the city had begun to move, an enormous gout of arcane energy had erupted from underneath where city had been. Since then, the Council of Six had decided to keep Dalaran moving randomly around Crystalsong Forest until they could devise a way to protect from leyline based attacks.

It had turned out that 'Tyrus the Magnificent', more properly Tyrusogos, hadn't been informed of his flight's plans. Perhaps not surprising, since he might have been killed in their attack. He had offered to leave the city until the conflict was over. In his words, because since Dragons were known to be 'awfully loyal chaps' he would be under suspicion for as long as he remained, even though he swore up and down he would never go along with 'that rapscallion Malygos's wretched war' against his friends, though he also wouldn't battle other blues. He had flown off in the direction of the Naxxramas to meet up with the Argent Crusade, and 'help give those Scourge fellows a right walloping.'

"Khadgar," said Lyra, setting down her book. "I need to learn to teleport."

"Hmm," said Khadgar, stilling flicking through the reports, "That usually comes a fair bit later in a Mage’s education; it isn't even part of the general education's final exam. Many Mages never even end up mastering it. I myself only learnt it in my second year with Medivh."

"This war though, both wars now, there are going to be situations like yesterday again, and you might not always be there to save me," said Lyra.

"That is true," said Khadgar. "You are skilled for a new apprentice, but teleporting is very difficult, it requires a great deal of control. You are adept at destroying things with the arcane, as your attack on the displacer showed, but teleportation is completely different," said Khadgar, putting down his report and rubbing his eyes. "I am... glad, that I accepted you as an apprentice. But this is precisely what I was talking to Modera about before the Provings. I work best, not with a platoon of Mages, but in a very small group – or without anyone at all, which means that there isn't a safety net to fall back on for you like there is for other apprentices."

Lyra was silent for a time, before asking in a soft voice. "Do you want me to try and find another Master? Or go into the general education system?"

Khadgar didn't answer for a time. "No. I enjoy having you as an Apprentice Lyra, and I know that with my help you will become a truly exceptional Archmage. It would be a waste of your talents taking the general classes. It just broke my heart to see you lying underneath that Dragon's claw."

Lyra shifted uneasily, unsure of how to respond to Khadgar's affection. She played with the edge of her blanket for a while, before opting to let is pass. "Even a fully fledged mage might have suffered the same fate. It isn't easy to channel a spell, let alone a teleport, with crushed ribs. And the Dragon probably would probably have counter-spelled me the moment it sensed me doing it."

"And you did superbly given the circumstances. But I should never have let you go off alone."

"That isn't fair!" protested Lyra, wincing slightly as she shifted. "It was the best course of action, they would have heard you approach, and then we might never have figured out what they were up to. Dalaran would probably have been destroyed!"

"Yes, though we had no way of knowing that beforehand. I have also devised a spell to replicating your ability to walk on snow so that the same scenario doesn't happen again," he said, before continuing. "Very well, we shall focus for the next few months on improving your control over the arcane so that you might learn to teleport," He picked a book off the shelf he had stocked for her, and handed it to her. "Start by reading the first, second and their chapters of this. We will discuss the contents when you are finished."


	4. Chapter 4

_Crunch, crunch, crunch,_ went the Horde battalion she and Khadgar had been assigned to watch over as it trudged over the Wintergrasp snow.

The Horde, while fierce warriors, lacked a well established magical tradition outside of the numerically few Sin'dorei. As such, in a war against foes who were arguably the strongest Mages on the planet, as well as titanic aerial assault craft, it had been swiftly discovered that warriors needed magical backup to shield them from the aerial strafing runs that characterised Dragon tactics in large scale warfare. The first few encounters between the blues and the Horde had been... messy, since many battalions lacked any Mages at all, and would normally had to rely on a single Warlock if they were lucky. And Warlocks weren't known for having the strongest defensive spells.

The alliance had refused joint exercises, and so it fell to the Kirin Tor to ensure that the Horde warriors were properly protected, something that stretched their already limited resources to breaking point. The Horde and Alliance might have tens of thousands of troops, but the Kirin Tor had only around two hundred Mages they were capable of fielding, herself included. And every battalion of 500 troops deployed into the conflict with the Dragons needed as an absolute minimum two Mages – or an Archmage and an Apprentice, and preferably four.

Lyra was positioned two thirds of the way down the convoy, and about a hundred meters ahead she could see Khadgar talking with Colonel Nazgrim, the Orc in charge of the battalion, somewhere in the front third of the group. They were spread out so that their combined shield could cover more ground, while still central enough that the surrounding warriors could protect them from infantry, which mobile shields didn't work well against.

The battalion was presently manoeuvring their way through the the least dense section of a spooky Wintergrasp forest, on their way to set up a westerly camp. The camp was intended to serve as a staging point for an attack on the westerly walls of the giant Wintergrasp fortress, which the blues had seized early on in the conflict. A conflict that was being referred to by some as the 'Nexus War,' so called for the blue's complex on Coldarra, in which a massive convergence of leylines was housed. The resulting arcane eruption, like the one that would have destroyed Dalaran, which shot into the sky, was used to power many of the structures and facilities that surrounded.

Lyra, whose Orcish wasn't great, had been provided an interpreter, a giant Tauren man with a soft voice, a giant laugh, and a very, very, very big sword. He was called Stronghoof, and apart from specialising in hitting things very hard with his sword, he was also one of the siege engineers. He was the first Tauren she had really met, and while she had been slightly nervous of the giant who towered three feet over her, she had grown to like him in the two weeks she and Khadgar had been with the Horde battlegroup.

As the collumn moved, she was sat upon a giant wolf, which turned out to be a far better mount than a horse. For one thing, it wasn't flighty at all, and very intelligent. After it had been told by the Wolfmaster that Lyra was its responsibility, it had been remarkably protective of her, and very concerned to keep its gait and movements simple enough that she wouldn't be thrown off. Bloodfang also loved being scratched behind his ears, and Lyra further endeared herself to him by giving him her rations of dried meat. As a Mage, her body wouldn't reject conjured food, and it was all she really needed from a nutritional point of view.

"So Lyra," asked Stronghoof, astride his own, much larger wolf. "Tell me again how you would attack a demolisher."

Lyra fought back a sigh, Stronghoof was nice, but was obsessed with trying to figure out ways to construct siege vehicles to be resistant to magical attacks.

"Well I-" began Lyra, before being cut off by a loud horn blast, followed by three short bursts. coming from one of the outriders to their right. Around her the horde scrambled into action, rushing about and spreading apart to form a rough circle around her and Khadgar perhaps a few hundred meters accross, and drawing their bows. She heard several yell _'Drakkuz!'_ which she knew meant Dragon. She also heard Nazgrim barking orders, though couldn't understand them.

"Three Dragons," said Softhoof, in the same tone he used to describe the weather as he unsheathed his massive blade. "We shall need your shield."

Lyra nodded and gripped her saddle with one hand, before reaching up with the other and beginning to weave together a shield over the group. Since it was so massive, it required all her concentration, and still would take at least thirty seconds to put together. A moment later Khadgar joined her, adding his incredible power to hers. The shield took shape, and a purple dome shimmered into being over the battalion.

A moment later three Dragons appeared over the treetops, flying low and at incredible speed. They roared, and unleashed a barrage of Frostfire that washed over the shield. Lyra felt the shield begin to waver, and hurriedly began to thread it back together. The roar was probably intended to frighten, but the battle-hardened Horde didn't even flinch, instead they smoothly opened fire with their bows letting loose a torrent of arrows. Most of the projectiles bounced off the Dragon's hide or missed entirely, but many found their mark in the leathery wings of the Dragons.

They roared in anger once they had passed overhead, before one of the smaller Dragons, a Drake really, was struck by a bolt bolt of shadow from the battalion's Warlock. It wobbled slightly before falling from the sky and crashed into the trees a little way off to Lyra's left. Nazgrim barked an order, and a detachment of of wolf riders formed up and charged in its direction. A few moments later there was a roar that turned into a terrible scream, and then silence. The wolf riders returned a few moments later, missing two of their original number, their weapons bloody. Lyra felt sick, that Drake was probably the same age she was.

Then one of the other Dragons, the largest of the group, was enraged by their fellow's death, and wheeled around before exiting arrow range, charging at the shield again. It opened its maw and bathed the shield in Frostfire as is raced straight for the battalion. Rather than banking or pull up, it crashed into the shield, claws aglow with arcane fire. The shield held for a moment, before shattering. The combined arcane assault and sheer weight of the Dragon proving too much. It crashed to the ground, around twenty meters away from where she was, thrashing about with tooth and claw and Frostfire. Several horde warriors fell immediately, cut down by the claws or burnt by the terrible cold of its breath. The was immediately ringed by warriors who dropped their bows and drew shields and spears from the ground, and the warriors not in the immediate vicinity turned their bows of its large form.

There were two more short horn bursts in quick succession, followed by one long blast, coming from an outrider in the same direction the Dragons had come from. She had learnt the code on her first day with the troops: one long blast, followed by a variable number of short blasts to indicate airborne Dragons and their number. Two quick short blasts, followed by a long one, to indicate ground troops – Dragonspawn. She heard Nazgrim barking orders, and a slightly semi-circular spear and shield-wall was established in the direction of the horn, though he kept other troops with different arms back in case they were flanked. The archers not engaged with the grounded Dragon kept looking at the skies, since they wouldn't see the Dragonspawn approach through the trees, and couldn't risk shooting once the lines met. Several shaman summoned totems of rock that glowed green, and Lyra felt her skin harden, taking on a rocky sheen. A large Felguard, standing twelve feet tall and armed with an immense fiery axe, sauntered past the shield line and faced the trees, swinging its axe with a wide grin.

"Apprentice!" she heard Khadgar shout, voice magically amplified, "Re-establish the shield!"

Lyra obeyed him and raised her hand again, while spurring Bloodfang closer to the centre of the battalion's roughly circular formation, away from the Dragon that had landed. A contingent of wolf riders, the ones who had rode out to slay the Drake flowed around her and Stonehoof, forming a protective guard. As her wolf cantered towards the battalion's centre, she focused on reweaving the giant shield. The remaining Dragon returned before her shield was finished, and strafed across the Horde soldiers. They reacted quickly, diving out of the way, but at least a dozen of them were too slow and were cut down by the Frostfire. Lyra did her best to ignore the scene, and focused on getting the shield back up. It took her longer than with Khadgar's help, and it was weaker, but it would hold back another strafing attack from the single Dragon. If it decided to hover, though, that would be a different story. Though in that case it would be cut down by the horde archers, hopefully before it pierced her shield.

Khadgar galloped past a few dozen meters to her left on his own wolf, flinging spell-fire at the grounded Drake, a woman who Lyra recognised as the battalion's Warlock riding beside him, spewing sickly green Felfire from her fist.

Then a galloping sound approached that shook the ground, and a wave of Dragonspawn broke through the trees and crashed against the Horde line. The airborne Dragon returned as they emerged from the denser trees, and bathed her shield Frostfire. It strained her shield, but she managed to hold it together. A bead of sweat dribbled down her forehead as archers shot at the airborne Dragon. Lyra tried her best to ignore the sounds of metal clashing, yells, and draconic screams from the battle-line, and focused on keeping the shield up, though she couldn't quite block out the eldritch laughter from what she assumed was the Felguard as it cleaved through the Dragonspawn like whirlwind.

There was another roar from the grounded Dragon, which cut off halfway through, and Lyra looked over. A fearless Troll warrior had managed to climb onto its back and thrust his spear into the base of its skull.

The airborne Dragon returned, letting out a keening noise when it saw its comrade dead. However, rather than foolishly try to land, as the other had, it bellowed something unintelligible and wheeled away from the conflict. The battle line broke away as the Dragonspawn began to slowly retreat. Their retreat was foiled however, as a another contingent of wolf riders emerged through the behind them. Apparently Nazgrim had ordered a flank. The Dragonspawn broke, all attempt at orderly retreat forgotten as the realised they had been entirely outmanoeuvred. The horde shield-wall parted and berserkers with great swords, hammers, and axes charged forth. Most of the Dragonspawn were cut down before they got ten meters. The others were chased by the wolf riders further into the trees.

Lyra leaned over the side of Bloodfang and vomited into the snow. She managed to keep the shield up despite her risen gorge, and felt Khadgar adding his own strength to the spell once again. Stonehoof patted her gently on the back from beside her.

"You did well Lyra, many more warriors would have perished had you not protected them from that last strafing attack," he said in his gentle voice.

There were three long blasts from a horn in the distance, and Lyra let the shield drop as she heard it, trembling. It would seem the last Dragon had withdrawn to Wintergrasp fortress.

Lyra surveyed the battlefeild as the Horde began seeing to the injured and collecting the dead. She could see at least thirty dead horde warriors next to the giant corpse of the Dragon that had foolishly landed, and even more who were injured. Where the single successful strafing attack had been were the dozen or so frigid corpses of those she hadn't been quick enough to save.

The battle line was a different story. The Horde were disciplined enough that they had easily established a spear wall in time to repel the cavalry like Dragonspawn. She saw several wounded, who were being seen to by a shaman, but no corpses.

She stopped counting the dead Dragonspawn after the eightieth, and there were probably more further into the trees.

"The Blue Dragons can't keep this up," she said softly, shaking her head. "We might have lost people, but they lost easily a hundred, and two Dragons. And they have less troops that us to begin with."

"Agreed," said Stronghoof. "They should have aborted their attack after the first strafe when they realised we were protected by you and your master, or perhaps even when they heard the outriders' horns and realised they had been seen."

"That Dragon, the one who landed," said Lyra, gesturing to the giant corpse. "They were probably six hundred years old; yet they just threw their life away. Why did they think they could defeat over five hundred soldiers on the ground?"

"Dragons are used to being the greatest apex predator on Azeroth. They are arrogant, and think that might alone is enough to win battles. It is not. The strongest blow can be turned aside by a skilful parry."

They reached the desired camp area a few hours after the battle, a hill protected on one side by a frigid lake. The horde had quickly and efficiently began setting up camp, carving deep trenches and wide stone walls with their shamanism. Pyres had been made for the fallen warriors, and she and Khadgar had attended the funeral ceremony down by the lake, though she did not understand the words spoken. Still, she had cried, along with many others who howled and wailed into the frigid air. She cried not just for the men and women who had fallen to the Dragon's claws and breath, though she shed many for those she had failed to protect, but also for the Dragons, and the Dragonspawn. It all seemed so monumentally pointless.

Here were people: Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Dragons, and Dragonspawn, that could be living good, gentle, creative lives, cut down in a war that was pointless even by the standards of most. A war that only existed because the 'Aspect of Magic' had suddenly decided that because a few Mages had fiddled dangerously with some leylines, that meant the entirety of mortal kind had to either renounce magic entirely – including the light, shamanism and anything else that involved manipulating the world's energies – or be exterminated.

After the ceremony the horde had created a large bonfire, which for the two hundred and fifty or so scouting or guarding the camps walls (mostly Trolls, since like elves, they had the best night vision), was the centre piece of a giant victory party, with raucous dancing and singing from three different cultures. Though Lyra noticed that despite their celebration, all the warriors were still dressed in their armour, and had their weapons nearby.

She and Khadgar had been given places of honour at the commander's table overlooking the festivities. Since she was now with Khadgar, her interpreter had been free to go and mingle with his peers. She saw Stronghoof doing some kind of shuffling dance that involved lots of arm waving surrounded by several Troll and Orc women, the Warlock among them. Apparently Lyra wasn't the only one who thought he was nice.

"Warriors of the Horde!" bellowed Colonel Nazgrim to the assembled warriors, although Lyra had to wait a few seconds for Khadgar to translate. "Tonight we drink to a great victory, and to honour the fallen. The Blue Dragonflight thought to ambush us, but in their hubris turned what might have been a massacre into their greatest defeat so far! With the aid of our Kirin Tor allies they could not simply sit in the sky and roast us as is the coward's want! And on the ground they proved little match for our steel! Two Dragons, and over a hundred of their spawn fell to Horde blades! Lok'tar Ogar!"

The assembled warriors cheered, and Khadgar raised his mug of mead, but Lyra didn't feel like celebrating. Instead she just stared into the sticky brown depths of her drink. Nazgrim sat down, and took a long swig of his mug, before noticing her.

"Mage Lyra, why are you glum?" Nazgrim asked in common. "This is a joyous night, surely?"

"It all seems so pointless. All this death," she said slowly.

"Ah, your first battle?" replied the Colonel, taking another swig.

"Yes," said Lyra. "I have been in a fight before, but never a battle."

"You did well; your shield saved the lives of many of my warriors. And no one blames you for not being able to get the second shield up in time," he nodded, before adding in a slightly lower voice. "It gets easier child."

"I'm not sure if that is a good or a bad thing."

He regarded her pensively for a few moments, before turning back to the party.


	5. Chapter 5

A lance of bright gold light shot outward from the brown and bronze wall, and raced across the snow. It impacted the advancing Alliance column's shield with a dull thud, leaving no discernible damage.

The Alliance artillery returned fire a few moments later from behind them, their own Mage-cannon differing only in that its projectile had a blue hue. It impacted upon the ancient titan masonry and a shower of dust and flying rock exploded outwards near to where the golden light had fired from.

The blue's shields had failed almost an hour ago. After two weeks of continual bombardment from the now combined Dalaranese, Alliance, and Horde armies.

The blues had only attempted to break the siege once, in a massed attack involving over sixty Dragons. They had been utterly unable to breach the permanent mage shields which the sixty Kirin Tor, four hundred or so Alliance, and around eighty Horde Mages had constructed over the elongated semi-circle front that stretched all the way around the fort.

It had been a massacre, and yet another example that the Dragons, while individually mighty beyond measure, were completely unprepared to fight a modern war against mortals, who in their seemingly never-ending conflicts had long ago realised that combined arms trumped even the most skilled individuals. Massed charges of the cavalry like Dragonspawn might look impressive, but were tactical nightmares against walls of shields and spears wielded by the immensely strong Orc, Tauren or Draenei Warriors. Even against the smaller races they took horrific casualties.

Lyra could still see the corpses of the mighty drakes that littered the churned and bloodied snow of the kilometre of no-mans land that lay between the fortress and their own encirclement. The Dragons had been cut to shreds by arrows, ballista, and the Mage-cannons; large focusing crystals mounted on movable metal frames that teams of even relatively inexperienced Mages could channel power into to produce a lance of destructive energy. They had been pioneered by the Alliance in the Outland campaign, whose calibre of magical instruction lagged significantly behind that of Dalaran or Quel'thalas, in order that they might stand a chance against the magical armies of Kaelthas.

The Alliance had even mounted them on an immense flying gunship, the Skybreaker, which hovered above, spewing lances of energy down at the fortress every few seconds, aiming for where the blues had positioned there own artillery.

While the Kirin Tor deemed the Mage-cannons somewhat crude, their range exceeded all but the strongest of Mages, and because they concentrated arcane energy before releasing it, they were particularly adept at weakening shields. The blues had quickly begun to construct their own after realising that they were unable to return fire with magic from their fortified position against the hideously long ranged cannons, and unable to win aerial superiority against the ground shields and the shielded juggernaut that was the Skybreaker. However, they had far fewer cannons, and their own tactic of a single massive shield to repel magic, which must have been powered by a truly immense crystal matrix, had proved less effective than the overlapping smaller domes of the encirclement, whose own matrices were easily replaceable and changeable if they overloaded. It also hadn't stopped the Horde and Alliance lobbing rocks at the fort with trebuchets, and firing with cannons.

There were no humanoid corpses in the no-mans land, since the generals were not stupid enough to try and run melee troops against a fortress, especially when they didn't really have to. The blues might be able to conjure food indefinitely, but even the best crystal shield matrices failed eventually. And when theirs finally had, it left their walls completely vulnerable to the magical onslaught of the three encamped armies.

Nazgrim – now a General, promoted after his decisive victories in the west of Wintergrasp – barked an order, and the four battalion column she, Khadgar and twelve Sin'dorei Mages who hadn't deigned to talk to her, were embedded in began to advance. She was mounted on Bloodfang again, but now Khadgar rode alongside her, a few meters to her right. at the front of the group. They were in the Horde vanguard, and would be the first through the walls. Lyra reflected that once she would have found the prospect paralysing, but after seven and a half months of constant fighting, the fear might still be there, but it was manageable. The Sindorei Mages in their column were scattered behind them, something they seemed to take as a personal insult; but even they couldn't deny that Khadgar was the superior Mage. Nazgrim also wasn't one to let sentiment or pride interfere in his tactics, one of the reasons he had proven more effective that other Orc commanders.

Lyra adjusted her position in the saddle slightly, shifting so her raised arm used different muscles, and directed all her attention to the forward shield, even though Khadgar was, as usual, doing the heavy lifting. All around her Taurens and Orcs, armed with spears and shields marched forward on foot, the furthest forward was only three ranks in front of her. It had been discovered that while Trolls were fearsome Warriors, the sheer strength of the physically bulkier members of the horde made for more reliable shield-walls against Dragonspawn. Lyra was sure Nazgrim would have put only Tauren in the first dozen ranks if he had enough of them. There were still Trolls in the vanguard, but they were further back and wouldn't see action until the fighting got into the fortress itself.

A golden lance shot out again, this time washing over her and Khadgar's shield. It felt like being hit in the gut, but after months of maintaining and improving her battalion shields she began repairing the damage instantly, without even flinching. Behind her a green hued Sin'dorei battery fired, striking where the golden shot had emanated from. The Sin'dorei shot hit true, and Lyra saw a large golden explosion that meant the Blue's Mage-cannon had been directly hit, the crystal overloading in a terrific release of energy.

Their column crept forward, but there were only a few more strikes upon their shield. It would seem that the blues had more or less run out of cannons. Perhaps they were withdrawing into the inner keep?

When they closed to within two hundred meters of the collapsed wall they had been aiming for Nazgrim gave another order from beside Khadgar, and the Horde broke into a run, Bloodfang immediately increasing his stride to keep up.

And then the horde troops were rushing up the ruined masonry shields and spears locked together as they barrelled into the fortress. There was around two hundred meters of open courtyard before the second, taller line of the inner wars. A line of Dragonspawn who by this point in the conflict had been outfitted with shields and armour on the front of their bodies waited for them. The armour was a recent addition by the Blue Flight, who had after a few months into the war and countless losses realised that their almost exclusive focus on finely made enchanted weapons was getting their infantry massacred. Mortals no longer used clubs, and only ancient dragonhide would consistently turn aside steel.

Behind them was a Dragon Lyra recognised, Azuregos. He opened his massive maw as the Horde Warriors rushed forward and bathed Frostfire over the shield, but with Khadgar there, so it easily held. Azuregos held the stream for a few moments, before closing his maw and rearing back and summoning a massive ice spike in his claws. Arrows bounced off his thick hide but he paid them no mind as he hurled the twenty meter long spike at the Horde line as it charged at the Dragonspawn.

Conjured ice, because it had a physical mass, was limited in range compared to fire, and especially arcane projectiles. Which meant that it tended not to be used in long distance confrontations or sieges. At this range though, it was devastating, since even a battalion wide shield like hers and Khadgar's couldn't hold back a physical projectile on the scale that Azuregos had created. A few arrows were fine, though a barrage was hit and miss, but a several ton shard of ice? Not a chance.

The blues had tried to use this tactic to bomb their encampment, flying kilometres up, but they had still had to contend with the Skybreaker, and their attacks were so incredibly inaccurate so they had abandoned the tactic.

The shard crashed through their shield and into the horde line, crushing or impaling over twenty Warriors as it drove into the ground on a collision course with Lyra. Bloodfang dodged agilely to the side as Lyra kept her attention on the shield, the ice careening past her before getting wedged in the rubble of the fallen wall. Situations like these were precisely the reason that Mages responsible for shielding in the horde army were mounted on the clever wolves the could be trusted to dodge large projectiles, something that otherwise would have broken a Mage's concentration – if they had been able to dodge such things at all. Lyra was glad this wasn't her first battle, since she doubtlessly would have panicked and dropped her parts of the shield otherwise.

Archers took up positions on the raised masonry behind Lyra, raining down arrows onto the Dragonspawn as more horde soldiers poured through the breach. A Warlock shot a gout of shadow at Azuregos, who batted it aside with a laugh, before summoning another great spike of ice and hurling it at the offending Warlock. The Warlock tried to dodge, but was too slow. As they realised the bolt was about to hit them, they vanished in a flash of Fel magic, presumably returning to where-ever they had carved their demonic circle. The surrounding Warriors weren't so lucky. The circle mustn't have been far though, since a few moments later an enormous voidwalker surged through the breach towards the Dragonkin. It was immense, at least sixteen meters high, and immediately grabbed a Dragonspawn from the battle-line, lifting it from the ground before ripping it in half in a shower of gore. The Dragonspawn hesitated, before Azuregos roared a command and they redoubled their efforts.

"Lyra, I'm needed to break this line or we will be pushed back. Some Sin'dorei will be here in a moment, and I know you can hold the shield until then," he said.

Lyra didn't respond, but instead just nodded.

Khadgar spurred his wolf forward, leaping towards the battle-line, yelling something in orcish. Ahead of him the two lines of spears and shields parted to the side briefly, confusing the Dragonkin. Then Khadgar conjured a gout of white fire that raced towards the Dragonspawn line. A few of the shaman nearby added their lightning that they had been until then reluctant to use on the melee, and the combined barrage turned the suddenly exposed Dragonspawn to ash instantly. The horde wasted no time in using the opportunity to surge forward and split the Dragonkin line in two.

Khadgar rode forth with them, flinging spell-fire at Azuregos who roared in outrage. Answering his fire with a breath of arcane. The two began trading blows, both sides keeping well back from the close quarters mage duel.

Around her the troops entering began to change to the two-handed shock troops, who raced forth yelling war cries and into the breach Khadgar had made. Two Sin'dorei emerged beside her, and seeing that she had the shield under control, raced forth on their own mounts to assist Khadgar.

A gout of golden light fired from the internal keep. Lyra reeled from the blow, but did not let the shield drop. There were too many Warriors counting on her here, she would _not_ let it drop. A trickle of blood came from one of her nostrils, but she ignored it. She knew that once they secured the other walls, as she could see the shock troops running to do now, there would be a fresh wave of troops to relieve them.

Lyra saw the voidwalker fall, its gaseous body finally giving out under a barrage of Dragonspawn spears. The Warlock who must have been empowering it from afar emerged a few moments later, he turned to grin to her.

"Where cannon?" he asked in broken common.

Lyra pointed with her free hand. He nodded and began charging up a bolt of shadow magic, he held it for almost twenty seconds, his limbs beginning to shake and twitch as the charge built up. Lyra hoped he wouldn't manage to misfire the spell and blow her up too, since he had insisted on casting it from right beside her. She nudged Bloodfang forward slightly, but kept her focus on the shield in case any more Mage-cannons. The one that had recently fired would still need a few more minutes to cool down, but there might be another waiting for her to drop her shield.

The Orc managed to contain the power, and in a sudden violent movement launched the shadowbolt towards where she had pointed. The corrosive magic collided with the tower that housed the cannon with a golden explosion, raining masonry down as it tottered and then collapsed mainly inward.

Warlocks were bad at shielding, and shadow magic had less range than arcane, and wasn't able to pierce shields as well, but it was _devastating_ against unshielded targets _._ It also had the unfortunate side-affect of eventually driving the casters insane, which is why Lyra had no interest in learning it. If Mages were the premier defensive spell-casters, Warlocks were the best offensive ones.

A large shard of the masonry sheared off from the ruined tower, around five times the height of Lyra, and came tumbling down towards Azuregos. He was too focused on his duel with three Mages that he didn't notice it falling. It crashed into the ancient blue and pinned his right leg and tail.

The Dragon roared and immediately raised a powerful shield around him, before trying to shift its pinned limb. Khadgar and the Sin'dorei rained arcane fire upon the dome, but it seemed to have little affect. Still, injured and with multiple streams of magical attacks as the Warlock and several shaman joined them, it wouldn't hold for long, no matter how powerful the Dragon was. He snarled and gnashed his teeth, before closing his eyes. His body glowed briefly, and then vanished in a surge of arcane energy.

Lyra was so surprised that she almost lost control of her spell. He had, without dropping his shield, managed to cast a teleport. He hadn't had time to anchor the shield first, either. He had managed to cast two active spells simultaneously, a feat she doubted even Khadgar could manage. She hadn't even known such a thing as possible.

Khadgar, the Sin'dorei Mages, the Warlock, and the shaman turned their attention to the Dragonspawn, but without their leader the blue's infantries' resolve broke. They threw down their weapons and held up their hands. Part of the horde moved to disarm them, while the others began turning their attention to the newly created gap the Warlock had made in the fortifications of the inner keep.

The fort didn't hold out for much longer, not without the ancient Azuregos who their intelligence has suggested had been in command of the fortress for the last eight months. The young Dragon in who remained in charge surrendered once it became clear that there was no possible way they could repel their enemies once they had taken the outer walls.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Lyra shivered and drew her dark grey cloak around her more tightly. The chill winds of Coldarra lashing through the material. Cursing quietly to herself she applied yet another warming charm, and relaxed slightly as the wind became less biting.

She withdrew her orb on a stick – more accurately known as an 'arcane surveyor' _–_ from her messenger bag and activated it, waving it towards the towering floating rocks that made up the Nexus. In the distance there were a few Blue Dragons wheeling about, though they dared not approach her small figure on the ridge line of the dormant caldera. The Kirin Tor's arcane anti-air batteries would rip them to shreds if they got close, that, or one of the ferocious reds that swirled above her would intercept them long before they got near.

This damned stupid war. They should have been fighting the Scourge, not the smallest and militarily weakest flight of Dragons.

She and Khadgar had been stationed here off the coast of the Borean Tundra for a month now. Slowly pushing back the myriad of defences the blues had built up over the millennia. Still, the blues hadn't surrendered, at least not those that remained on Coldarra. Most had given up and flew off to their various haunts around Azeroth after the Wintergrasp debacle, no longer willing to follow their mad leader. Many others like Tyrusogos had never been willing to follow Malygos in the first place. The few dozen left were the fanatics, and they were determined to make the Kirin Tor and the Red Dragonflight bleed for every inch of Coldarra, even though they must have known that by now they could not possibly win.

The war had been up in the air for the first eight months, but had turned in their favour during the Wintergrasp campaign – starting with the blue's disastrous ambush of Nazgrim's battalion, and ending with the surrender of Wintergrasp fortress itself. The blues had lost too many Dragons with foolish tactics that were ruthlessly exploited by the seasoned Alliance and Horde commanders. The subsequent entry of the reds into the war after a mad attack by the blues on Wyrmrest a month later made the result inevitable. By this point, they had basically run out of Dragonspawn ground troops, and were relying almost solely on the magical defences of the nexus, and the titanic might of the few Dragons that remained.

Lyra finished her task, noting that the blue's south-eastern shield matrix was failing, before turning and walking back down the treacherous path to the many overlapping domes of the Kirin Tor encampment. From below her there was a ripple of arcane energy, before a bright purple beam lanced out from behind the camp shield. A Mage-cannon. It impacted an invisible barrier a few hundred meters away, and for a brief moment a few cracks in the air could be seen, before they knitted themselves back together. A few seconds later there was another ripple through the environment, and another beam lanced out, having much the same affect as the first.

She strode through the purple barrier, feeling its wards recognise and admit her. Immediately the air warmed, and she shed her thick outer cloak. There were several Red Dragonspawn at the perimeter of the camp, and they nodded to her respectfully. It was impossible for them to be ambushed in this completely open terrain, but they guarded the camp nevertheless.

She approached the command tent where her mentor and a tall blood-elf called Kasristraz, who was actually an ancient Red Dragon, stood, peering over a map of Coldarra dotted with tokens. There were also a few aids about, though Lyra didn't know all their names.

The Alliance and Horde had turned their attention back to the Scourge, since the Red Dragonflight was more than strong enough to crush the blues by itself. And Khadgar had been placed in command of the Kirin Tor's efforts on Coldarra, and given a squadron of around thirty Mages, while the rest of the Kirin Tor had also pivoted their attention back to the Scourge in Icecrown and Zul'drak.

The Drakkari had been unwilling to let outsiders through their kingdom, and the Argent Crusade's tiny foothold in Icecrown had grown more precarious from lack of supplies and troops due to the blues' control of the Dragonblight, and the red's previous indifference. The Argent Crusade, unwilling to give up its foothold, had grown desperate and launched an unprovoked attack on the Drakkari to create a passage for their supply trains.

Lyra had thought it was particularly stupid because it opened yet another front, but her main objection was that it was manifestly unjust. Luckily for the Argent Crusade however, unbeknown to their commanders, the Drakkari had actually been fighting a losing battle against the Scourge the for years already by that point. Meaning that their southern defences folded almost immediately, and shortly after, the Crusade was fighting undead Drakkari, rather than live ones. The Argent Crusade spun it like they had no choice, but Lyra knew what they had actually contributed to – genocide.

Of course, it had been easy for the mainly human organisation to overlook the dead trolls and their shattered civilisation. After all, they were just savages. Right?

'Oh,' they had said, 'but we needed the supply line.'

'Oh,' they had said, 'to withdraw from Icecrown would have been a tactical mistake.'

'Oh,' they had said, 'the Drakkari would have fallen within a few months anyway.'

'Yes you fuckers,' Lyra had thought, 'they probably would have, but if you hadn't blocked off their only way out of _their_ city, they might not have all died and been turned into ghouls.'

Their excuses were hardly surprising, since their entire order was based on faith in their fundamental _rightness_ , rather than anything resembling critical thinking. Zealots, the lot of them, who over time only grew more zealous because their ' _righteousness_ ' gave them superpowers. If they didn't have the Scourge and demons to fight they probably would have been coming after her for her ears, yelling about 'purity.' The Scarlet crusade, who weren't that different really, already got up to that kind of thing.

She must have been scowling, because Khadgar seemed to notice her mood.

"What's got you so dark and stormy?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Just thinking about Zul'drak," she replied.

"I see," said Khadgar, frowning himself; he had more or less agreed with her assessment, and strongly argued that the Kirin Tor should provide no support to the Argent Crusade in their campaign against the Drakkari; though now that all the Drakkari were all either dead or undead, it was a moot point, and since the Argent Crusade's powers were necessary against the Scourge, the political leaders of the Kirin Tor, Khadgar included, hadn't been willing to break their alliance over the invasion. "Well, what were the readings?"

"Their south-east shield matrix is failing. We should redirect our artillery towards it," she said. An aid waited for Khadgar's nod before rushing out of the tent to inform the Mage-cannon crews.

"We were just discussing how we might breach the Eye of Eternity," said Khadgar. "Unfortunately, Malygos seems to have enchanted all the keys carried by his lieutenants to become non-functional if they are slain."

"I take it that is new?" asked Lyra, approaching the desk and looking at the map of Coldarra.

"Yes, in the past they were passed around somewhat, though unfortunately my flight has none at the present," said Kasristraz. "The Bronze Dragonflight has one, but they are being their usual evasive selves."

"Perhaps we don't need to breach the Eye?" asked Khadgar, thinking.

"How else are we going to get at Malygos?" asked Lyra.

"I have an idea, but first, we need to stop this war once he is dead or captured," asked Khadgar "If not, this conflict will continue as a guerilla war for quite some time. Which would be _hellish_ , since Dragons are capable of such horrific hit and run attacks."

"Perhaps we can recognise another Blue Dragon as their leader?" said Kasristraz. "Someone willing to grant amnesty to the Dragons still here."

"That could work," said Khadgar.

"But that still presents the same problem, while Malygos lives they will not surrender, even with a new leader; these are the fanatics," said Lyra, "We need to get into the Eye, we need a key."

"No we don't," said Khadgar.

"I believe we do..." said Lyra. "Unless I have been misinformed."

"No," said Khadgar, shaking his head. "We just destroy it. That would kill Maylgos, and with a new leader, potentially end this war. Storming it would actually be an exceptionally bad idea, given how powerful the Aspect of Magic is. You said the south-east shield matrix is failing, and will therefore only last a few more days at most. We could launch a lightning raid when it falls and target the Eye. This war could be over within a week."

"A good plan," said Kasristraz, nodding. "Though it is a shame to destroy a wondrous artefact of the Titans, ending this war takes priority."

"But he wouldn't even have a chance to surrender, he wouldn't even know he was under attack in a lightning raid," said Lyra, frowning.

"Blast his chance to surrender!" snapped Khadgar, "He could surrender right now – or even agree to our no-fault peace treaty we have sent countless times. Even if he is completely mad, he must know he can't win any more. He is just killing people, on both sides, by continuing this war."

"I agree," said Kasristraz. "Besides, it is unlikely that Malygos would not be executed by my Queen regardless for his attack on Wyrmrest."

"But he's her brother!" said Lyra, aghast. Fighting was one thing, but killing people outside of combat? She felt sickened by that, despite all the blood she had seen.

"It is our first law that Wyrmrest is a sacred place for all flights; that a Dragon may not shed the blood of another there," said Kasristraz. "Even Black Dragons may come and go unmolested."

"Then it is decided," said Khadgar, nodding.

"I am going to take a reconnaissance flight around the caldera, and dispatch one of my kin to Wyrmrest to inform my Queen of our plan, and the need for her majesty to recognise a new leader of the blue flight. I will be back shortly," said Kasristraz.

The Dragon left, along with the aids, since the planning session was over.

Lyra looked at Khadgar for a few moments before speaking.

"You are a hard man, master," she said in a monotone.

Khadgar arched a brow. "I do not think so. And why 'master' all of a sudden?"

"You just outlined a plan that is based around the explicit assassination of a sentient being," she said slowly. "Not in combat, but a plan to kill him before he knows what is happening; murder."

"And you think this makes me hard? Cold?" he asked.

"How can you disagree?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Would it not be colder – harder – to cling to some ridiculous notion of 'fair-play' if all it did was continued the slaughter of this foolish war? If Maylgos – who in the end is only _one_ Dragon – must be killed to prevent the deaths of others, including dozens of other Blue Dragons, then so be it, I will kill him myself and wear that stain on my soul," said Khadgar. "But, I get the feeling this isn't about Malygos."

"How is this different from the Drakkari?" asked Lyra. "We are occupiers already, and this plan will make us murderers; to kill not just in the heat of battle, but with cold calculation. You call what the Argent Crusade did genocide, but seem to refuse to see the parallels. "

Khadgar recoiled as if stung. "But there are none. The Argent Crusade _attacked_ the Drakkari, invaded their home, not because the Drakkari attacked them, not because the Drakkari posed a threat to them, but because the Drakkari had something they wanted. What do we want from the Blue Dragons apart from peace?"

"Our magic," she said, folding her arms. "And besides, we are standing here right now, occupiers of Coldarra. Their home."

"You are taking two concrete circumstances and invoking an abstract link based upon single points of passing similarity!" protested Khadgar. "The blue flight, which will not end with Malygos' death, attacked _us_ , and attempted to commit genocide against _us_ if we refused to give up our magic, which apart from anything else, we _need_ to fight the Scourge. Once we have defeated Malygos, we will leave and hopefully never set foot on this hellish sea-rock again; we are not occupiers, not like the Argent Crusade was. Moreover, we have been prepared to sign a peace-treaty since the very beginning of this war, we sent how many envoys, a dozen? I will be delighted if he accepts peace within the next few days, but so far he has shown no indication he will do so."

"So the means justify the end?" she snapped back. "Is that not a slippery slope to go down, master? Does that not end like the Drakkari? The Argent Crusade sent emissaries after all, just as we sent envoys."

"The ethics of an any action must be thoroughly contemplated each and every time; there is no slope, and it is not slippery unless one begins to justify future actions based on unthinking and unreflective invocation of the past. Wanting to keep ones own magic is not the same as wanting to take another's home and evict those living there."

"But we are shaped by the decisions we make; we will be stained by this assassination, just as the Argent Crusade will forever be guilty of genocide. It does not wash out, even if they beat the Scourge," said Lyra. "I don't know if I am prepared to be a murderer. And I don't think the blue flight will ever forgive us for this."

"Yes, the end of the Nexus War will be the result of assassination. And it will be ugly, and nasty. No doubt I will be called Aspect-Slayer or something like that if my role in this plan becomes well know. But how many might be saved by just _one_ death?"

"And what the Crusade did to the Drakkari?" she asked in a small voice.

"Their end was _genocide_ ," Khadgar spat. "And I promise you apprentice, I will _never_ condone genocide of a sentient species, not matter what 'advantage' I might think it could lead to."

Lyra slumped, sitting down in a chair and putting her head in her hands. "It was so much easier when it was just undead who were the enemy; at least there were no regrets then. It was all so black and white: it is a kindness to release the undead from their bondage. But Dragons and Dragonspawn? They are people. I am having trouble grappling with the premeditated killing of an intelligent being. But I am sorry for calling you cold, you are not, and it was unfair of me."

He sat down next to her, and embraced her, making her seize up at the sudden contact. "I know this war has both of us stressed to breaking point. And you are right, it is disgusting to contemplate the killing of another sentient, but I see no better option. Inaction is an action all of its own; but necessity is not a virtue."

"I've never actually killed someone, this whole war... I've just been shielding. I don't know if I could even kill in battle, much less order an assassination. It all just seems so horrible," she said with a sob.

"You are a kind soul apprentice," he said, kissing the top of her head.


	7. Chapter 7

The mud sucked Lyra's boot in up to her ankle, and she wrinkled her nose. Khadgar had made it seem so enticing. 'Let's go to Scholazar and study the Titan ruins!' he had said. 'We can get away from the cold, and the snow, and the undead!' She huffed and withdrew her boot, emerging back from the undergrowth into camp with the driest firewood she could find. Lyra had wanted to just conjure some fire, but Khadgar insisted that their first day in the basin be 'authentic.'

Lyra didn't think authenticity was an issue. So far she had been bitten silly by mosquitoes, drenched in sweat from the baking heat of the now set sun, and had nearly pissed herself when a log in the river had suddenly moved and revealed itself to be a Crocolisk. Khadgar had just laughed, and told her not to go near the water without spearing the river a bit with arcane lances first.

Malygos was dead, and had been for the past six months. The Blue Dragonflight had folded almost immediately after, and by now more or less coalesced around their new leader, one Kalecgos; a Dragon who had been instrumental in the recent defeat of the legion at the Sunwell. A Dragon who had avoided the war entirely, but was still well respected, even by those who had followed Malygos to the end.

The war was going well in the dead city of Zul'drak, since the Scourge was completely overstretched supplying their forces by sea, and there had even been some slow progress into Icecrown itself. Lyra didn't really understand how the Lich King, who had presumably been trained in warfare as a prince, was so terrible at strategy. He had an army that essentially suffered from zero communication or morale problems and was self-replicating after every victory, and yet was still being pushed back, slowly but steadily. Maybe his brain had rotted?

The only thing that Lyra thought could be said for the jungle is the copious amount of wild fruit which grew in the trees, which tasted amazing. Khadgar was less impressed though, and had whined that if the Titans could do some much, then surely they could have made cake grow on trees.

Lyra's magical studies were progressing apace, she had _finally_ got the hang on teleporting shortly after the end of the Nexus War. Which had come a great relief, knowing that she could high-tail it if things got hairy. It had helped stop the frequency of nightmares where she was trapped under Talagosa's claws. Now she was working on her frost magic, which had been somewhat neglected by her focus on the arcane.

Scholazar was the perfect place to practice, she thought, as she summoned a block of ice and held it up to her face. She sighed as she felt the icy coolness leech the heat from her skin, and shivered as it ran down her front and back. The cooling and warming charms on her clothes were good, Khadgar had enchanted them himself after all, but they had limits.

They had made camp by a river, and erected some wards to scare off any local animals, including, thankfully, mosquitoes. Lyra was currently enchanting her raven clasp with the same ward, and Khadgar was munching a chocolate cake with a slight grimace – conjured food always tasted slightly of cardboard. 'Still,' he had said, 'cake was cake.'

"So," said Khadgar once he was finished. "This is exciting isn't it! Just us, here, against the wild!"

"With a tent, sleeping rolls, infinite food and water, and the ability to leave whenever we want. I'd hardly call this 'us against the wild.'"

"Bah!" said Khadgar, trying to get the wood to light by rubbing a stick against it. "You have no soul apprentice. I've dreamed of a trip like this for years. Off into completely uncharted wilderness, looking for answers! No one to fight! Just exploring!"

Lyra rolled her eyes as she delicately etched a rune to the underside of the clasp with a sharp enchanter's needle. "That isn't how that works, you need tinder, and you roll the stick it in your hands against one point, not scrape it along the edge like a chisel."

"Since when do you know so much about this?" he asked.

"I read it in a book," she said, finishing the rune and giving it a blow to get rid of any dust.

"Which book?" he asked.

"Hemit Nesingwary's _Green Hills of Stranglethorn,"_ she said, beginning on the next rune.

"Since when do you read books like that? I haven't been able to get you to so much as glance at anything that isn't magical theory since you became my apprentice."

"I was a child, and there wasn't much else to read – it was the only book in the orphanage that wasn't some sappy romance; I have no idea why those were considered a good idea for kids to have."

"Hmm. You haven't talked about the orphanage before, what was it like?"

Lyra shrugged, wishing she hadn't brought it up. "It was a place, I was a kid, I survived."

"That isn't what I asked," he said after a moment.

"It was cold, and the other kids hated me."

"Oh? I find that hard to believe," said Khadgar. "Why would people dislike you? You are kind to a fault, and only occasionally make me want to strangle you."

"I'm a Half-Elf Khadgar; how have you not noticed this?" she said, pulling back her hair. "See, I've got pointy ears, but unfortunately they aren't long enough."

Khadgar frowned and didn't speak for a while. "Is it really that bad?"

"It was worse as a child, all the other kids tended to stick to cliques of their own race; which is pretty awful by the way. And it meant that I didn't fit in anywhere," said Lyra. "There are anti-racism programmes in school, but they focus mainly on building understanding and respect for different cultures and races. What culture do I have unique to being a Half-Elf? There are maybe twenty half-elves in the world, probably less."

"I'm sorry Lyra, I didn't know," said Khadgar. "Though now that I think about it, I have never seen you spend time with anyone your own age, or anyone older either. You really have no friends?"

"Nope," she said. She finished the last rune and put aside her needle, then focused delicately on threading arcane energy into the recesses one strand at a time.

"Well I think of you as one of my closest friends, almost like the daughter I never got to have; I'm sorry if I haven't made that clear before," he said, before turning back to his attempt to make fire. "Blast this, how is this supposed to work."

"I think you should just conjure it," smiled Lyra, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. No one had ever said she was like a daughter to them before, she found she quite liked it.

"But it won't be authentic!" said Khadgar, he said, whittling the stick in between his hands – he apparently didn't know what tinder was. "When we return to Dalaran, how about we attend some of those dinners I always put off? There will be other apprentices there, and you might find you have something in common with them."

"I don't think that will help Khadgar," said Lyra. "I've more or less accepted that my life will be a fairly lonely one. But thanks for trying."

"Surely you might one day want to find a partner, even have a family? Though I admit, being my apprentice wouldn't leave much time for that. Though as a Half-Elf you are going to live a very long time."

"I'm a Half-Elf."

" _Yes_. I grasped that detail."

"I mean I'm sterile, all half-breeds are. What man is interested in a woman who can't ever bear them children?"

"There is always adoption," he said. "And not all men want children."

"I have found that people are not interested in those they see as flawed or damaged, even if they might claim themselves to be above such things. How many women were interested in you before you reversed your ageing curse?"

"Well... not many I'll admit."

"And how many pursue you now that you are a... how did one put it a 'handsome silver fox?' I can think of over a dozen off the top of my head."

"What? Really? Who said that?" he said, abandoning his attempt to start the fire.

"Modera," she said, sinking the last thread of arcane power into the clasp's tiny runic array. It began to glow slightly, and she flipped it over, clasping her cloak back together. Great, that deal with the mosquitoes. She hoped.

"What? No. Surely you must have misheard, perhaps 'horrendous silly fool?' We are colleagues and friends-"

" _'Oh Khadgar! You_ **must** _find an apprentice, I do so_ **worry** _about you, out there all_ **alone** _!'"_ she said, throwing up her now free hands and mimicking Modera's higher voice. "And I have very good hearing, I didn't mishear."

"Huh," said Khadgar, thinking with a furrowed brow. "Who else?"

"Michelle, in the cafe. She always gives you an extra large slice of cake and makes eyes at you." replied Lyra immediately.

"She's just being friendly," said Khadgar waving a hand.

"Lady Proudmoore."

"Now you're being ridiculous," he spluttered.

"Am I? How many times did she touch your hand during the last council meeting?"

"Well... she was just trying to get my attention," he said slowly with a frown, seeming to not quite believe his own words.

Lyra just laughed.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" said Khadgar.

"I thought it was obvious," said Lyra.

"Who else?" he asked eagerly.

"Gosh, I don't know, almost every woman you meet who is over thirty, and a lot of those who are younger too. Women find you very attractive; light knows why."

"Hmm..." he began with a frown. "Well, what about you, any young men – or woman – caught your eye?"

"Haven't we just discussed this? Men don't want me because I'm sterile; and I've never met a woman interested in me either," she said.

"That isn't what I asked, and I'm not convinced, I think you're just a bit shy," said Khadgar.

"Why would I tell you anyway?" asked Lyra.

"Because I care about you?" he suggested.

"Ugh, that is blackmail," she said.

"Probably," he grinned. "Answer the question."

"Fine. I think Tzargo has kind eyes, a nice smile, a clever mind, and has never been mean to me. He even asked me how my day was going two weeks ago while we were waiting outside the council chambers for you lot to finish."

"Modera's apprentice? The troll boy?" Khadgar asked with wide eyes.

"Man. He's eighteen," said Lyra. "And I wouldn't have said anything if I knew you were going to judge me for who I find attractive."

"I'm just surprised is all, trolls aren't usually regarded as attractive by Humans or Elves," said Khadgar quickly. "And how would you kiss him? He has giant tusks."

"Does that matter?"

"I suppose not."

"I couldn't have a child with anyone, so why should species matter in a partner?" said Lyra. "He's a person, and I like him. That would be enough for me."

Khadgar went back to his attempts to make fire, and it was almost ten minutes before he spoke again. "Sometimes, I feel I am seeing what people will be like in the future when I look at you."

"What? Everyone will be socially awkward, barren, and spend all their time reading?" she asked with a laugh. "I don't think that society will last very long."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "People who have completely rejected bigotry and the desire to dominate others – it was _you_ who made me see the invasion of Zul'drak for what it was, who have compassion even for their worst enemies, and do not view the world through the lens of borders, or kingdoms, or races, but instead respect and care for all others based on nothing more than a common recognition of person-hood."

"I think you have an inflated view of me. I can be incredibly petty, I hold grudges, I _hate_ the Argent Crusade; I even deliberately set your washing on fire when you annoyed me a month ago."

"But you don't deny that is how you view the world?" he asked. "And so _that_ is what happened to those underpants..."

"I think that it's more a symptom of being a Half-Elf; since I'm not like anyone, I either have to reject everyone as different, or embrace them all."

Khadgar went back to his attempts at fire making, he didn't have any success. Lyra eventually grew bored of watching him bang bits of wood together and threw a fireball at the unlit campfire. Khadgar yelped and scrambled backwards from the now blazing wood.

"Apprentice! I almost had it!"

"Sure you did Khadgar; sure you did."


	8. Chapter 8

" _'Go and map the eastern river apprentice,'"_ grumbled Lyra as she hacked her way through a particularly dense bit of foliage with a blade of conjured ice. _"'It'll be fun apprentice, you'll be the first person there!'"_

Lyra hacked at the bushes again, her blade got stuck, so she let go and conjured another.

" _'Oh no, I couldn't possibly go. I need to stay here and try and work out where all the water goes,'"_ she snarled, advancing forward and vaporising some vertical scrub that stood in her way with a blast of arcane power. _"'You can go and check why the river that flows from Icecrown isn't tainted. What's that? No, of course you can't take the tent, this is the main camp after all; fear not_ _A_ _pprentice, it shall be waiting for you upon your triumphant return.'"_

"Fucking Khadgar and his fucking jungle!" she spat.

Then she tripped and fell flat on her face as her foot caught on a springy branch she had missed.

She spat out some leaves and stood again, flicking a beetle from her shoulder. "And his fucking plants, and his fucking bugs, and his fucking **heat**!" she screamed, losing her temper and unleashing a nova of fire that roared around her, knocking over several small trees, and charring the undergrowth.

Lyra took a deep breath. And tried very hard to calm herself. She had left their camp in the central basin where all the rivers met six days beforehand, heading east and following, as often as she was able, a river that seemed to emanate from the Icecrown glacier. She had come to despise this particularly section of jungle, and was none to happy with her mentor for making her slog through it. He never would have sent her off alone in uncharted jungle if she hadn't learnt to teleport, why had she insisted she learn early? Oh right, she had been trod on by a dragon.

"I'm glad to find someone else who finds this place just as disagreeable as I," said a voice behind her.

Lyra whirled, fist glowing with fire. She started, and lowered her fist slightly when she saw what appeared to be a Murloc. Lyra blinked, surprised. Had it just talked? Or was she simply going jungle-mad? It seemed to be tentatively poking at one of the charred bushes she had just incinerated. There was a ball of glowing water orbiting it's body, something she seen a few shaman cast back during the Nexus war.

Probably going mad then.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to stare?" asked the Murloc. Its mouth was huge, and full of sharp teeth, but its eyes were bright and regarded her with interest. It was slightly different to other Murlocs she had seen pictures of, with a longer tail and powerful legs that looked good for hopping about on. It also had larger fin like ears that jutted from its skull, giving it a slightly elfin look.

"Wha... you're a Murloc?" she said after a few moments.

"Gorloc actually," it said, with what she thought was a sniff.

"And you speak?" she asked.

"Your powers of observation are truly astounding," it said. "Truly you must be an exemplar of your people's intellect."

"Am I going mad?" she said, holding up her fiery fist for a moment, before letting the spell dissipate. "I must be going mad; too long in this bloody jungle."

"You were just talking to yourself, and you did just vaporise a large patch of jungle for no real reason. So signs point to yes."

"Maybe Khadgar won't mind if I just go back to Dalaran. Surely seeing talking Murlocs-"

"Gorlocs," corrected the Gorloc.

"-Gorlocs counts as a medical emergency. But then I'd just have to come back here and find him, or he'd be wandering all over looking for me."

"It seems you have a dilemma," said the Gorloc in a bored voice.

"That might be good though, give him a taste of his own medicine," Lyra said to herself. "Though he'd probably try scrying me and see I was in Dalaran..."

"You sound like a very petty person."

"Hey, if you're a figment of my imagination, why are you so rude?" she asked.

"I am not a figment of your imagination you foolish woman. I told you, I am a Gorloc, my name is Moodle," he snapped.

Lyra blinked at him a few more times, then looked at her hand again, palm open this time. "So I'm not going mad?"

"I don't know, you seem to think I'm a figment of your imagination, so that would, again, suggest that yes, you are a few fish short of a lunch," said the Gorloc. "Now, may I ask what you are doing in this particularly inhospitable part of the basin?"

"My mentor wanted me to see why the water from Icecrown isn't tainted."

"Ah, well I may be able to help with that. You see, what my rather stupid brethren refer to as the 'Big Shiny Pillars' purify everything that enters the basin."

"Oh," said Lyra. "The pylons?"

"Indeed," it said in a slow voice, as if explaining to a child.

"Well. I can turn back then," said Lyra with a grin, before it turned into a frown. "Though then Khadgar will probably tell me off for not seeing it myself and make me walk all the way back here again. He probably will think I was making up the whole talking Murl- Gorloc thing. This damn foliage will probably have regrown by then too."

"Well, I am headed to the easterly pylon anyway, which this river flows past. Perhaps you could accompany me – your explosive destruction of this 'damn foliage' would be quite useful in making an easy path," said Moodle.

Lyra shrugged. He was a bit rude, but better than jungle-madness. "Alright, but why are you heading there?"

"I am currently investigating what has happened to some of my fellows, you see, their town didn't turn up for the cretinously named ' _Big Shiny Festival_ ,' and my fellows were so distraught and wouldn't stop going on about it that I left to investigate. Though I don't know why someone else couldn't come and do it. Here I am, the smartest Gorloc in my tribe, the whole basin even, with another million better things I could be doing, but none of the other idiots even thought to come, so _I_ had to... does that seem right to you?" he asked.

"I uh-"

"Articulate as ever... hmm, what do you call yourself?" he asked.

"Oh, Lyra," she said.

"Well 'Oh Lyra,' lead on. Though do try to not roast me during your next tantrum."

"Its just 'Lyra.'" she said with a frown.

"I see. Well, pip pip, off you go," said Moodle, waving his stubby arms in a shooing motion.

Lyra and Moodle stood on the edge of the jungle, looking forward in horror at the desolate fields of plague infested ground covered in mostly decomposed foliage. In the distance was of the four pylons Lyra and Khadgar had seen towering over the jungle the day they had descended. Now this one was shattered halfway up, and red crystals littered the plague-brown dirt. They had noticed something wrong when four days beforehand they had felt a tremor in the ground, as if something mighty had fallen. Now they knew what it had been.

"What... what is this?" said Moodle, his normal snark absent in his shock.

"The Scourge," said Lyra with a grim face.

"The what?"

"An army of undead, they seek to take over this world and make everyone into their puppets."

"But... why?" asked Moodle.

"Originally they were created by a force called the Burning Legion, as a way of weakening this world's defences. They have since become more or less autonomous, but they retain the expansionistic drive they were designed with," explained Lyra. "Your people, was... was their village ahead of us?"

"Yes. By the stream," he said, gesturing to some dark looking thatched roofs a few kilometres ahead that Lyra had initially taken to be rocks. They sat in the shadow of the now fallen pillar, but had not been crushed, since it had fallen in the other direction.

"I... I can see some movement there. It is to far to make out properly, but it is possible that they are alright, just confused," she said.

"That would be like them, come, let us make haste," he said, hopping off towards the town. Lyra followed him, having to jog to keep up with his quick movements. At least it was easier to move outside of the jungle.

As they got closer the moving shapes resolved themselves into ghouls.

" _STOP!"_ she hissed.

"What is it?" said Moodle, skidding to a stop and hunkering down. His vision was apparently not as good as hers.

"Undead, they are moving around the village, we need to find a different approach," she said.

"There," said Moodle, pointing to a hill that had a steep cliff section overlooked the village to their right. "We can sneak around and get a proper view."

They did so, working their way carefully inland and up to the hill, before carefully peeking over the edge.

Below them were a few dozen large ghouls, dragging dead or dying Gorlocs into a pile for a Necromancer. A few of the Gorlocs that were still alive cried plaintively.

"By the Creators..." hissed Moodle. "What are they doing!?"

Lyra felt sick. "They are going to reanimate them, bind their souls into their bodies, and make them into slaves."

"We _must_ help them," he hissed.

Lyra nodded. "Can you fight?"

"Yes, I can channel lighting, but there are many of them, and I have never fought another spell-caster before."

"OK. Listen, those ghouls are slow, but deadly if they catch you. You are pretty fast though, faster than me for sure, so you should be able to distract them and draw them away."

"While you deal with the spell-caster?" he said.

"Exactly," she said, nodding. "Once he is dealt with, I will join you. Together whatever ghouls are left won't stand much of a chance against two spell-casters. Hopefully I can kill him before he realises he is under attack."

"Got it," he said nodding. Eyes steely. He hopped back down the hill before turning and approaching from where they had come.

" **Come and face my onslaught fiends, feel the wrath of the Creators!"** shouted Moodle, charging towards the ghouls and hurling a massive bolt of lightning. It crashed into one, blowing it apart. The ghouls stopped their work and turned. _"You mongrel abominations are not match for the might of the Rainspeakers!"_

"Deal with that pest!" ordered the Human Necromancer with a glance, before turning back to a runic array he had begun to draw with a stick around the pile of corpses.

Moodle bounded away in the direction of the jungle as the ghouls charged him. He periodically turned to hurl lightning at them before bounding away again, all the while yelling rather creative invective. Lyra watched him, relieved that he was indeed much faster than they were. She waited a few more seconds until she judged the ghouls far enough away, before standing, backing off slightly and taking a running jump, vaulting off the cliff with a very slight slow fall spell, designed stop her breaking her legs when she landed, as she hurled fireballs down at the Necromancer.

While he might have been a tactical dunce, sending all his troops away after one clearly fast and magical Gorloc, he was apparently no magical slouch himself. He must have sensed the spells because a moment before the first fireball struck, he whirled and managed to raise a shadowy shield. Shadow magic shields were pretty weak usually, compared to arcane ones, but his seemed to hold up against her fire with no problems.

"Oh, well this is interesting. What is a mortal Mage doing so far from Dalaran?" he mused. "I used to study there you know, before Kel'thuzad showed me _the path_. Are you ready to die little girl, alone, and without hope?"

Lyra spat, but did not otherwise respond to his goading, instead switching her spell-work to arcane and launching a trio of meter long purple missiles, two of which that split apart and veered off, before turning backwards and careening into him from three directions. It was probably her best duelling spell, and she had been working on it on and off for a few months since towards the end of the Nexus war.

He seemed surprised at her ferocity, but quickly expanded his shield into a full bubble for a few moments, which absorbed her attack easily, before retaliating with a lance of shadow.

Full three hundred and sixty degree shields were hard to pull off, and required lots of focus to get the curvature right, which is why during the Nexus war she had devoted all her attention to maintaining them in battles. They were also exceptionally difficult to cast quickly, which was why the three sided magic missile attack was usually so effective. Lyra grimaced, she might have bitten off more than she could chew here.

Lyra spun, dodging partially out of the way of the shadow magic and deflecting it with an angled mana shield, rather than taking the force head on. She still staggered from the effort and her barrier only just held against the corrosive magic. She needed to end this, and fast. He was far more powerful than her. Still, he quite clearly had weaknesses, and weaknesses could always be exploited. She shielded and dodged again, reeling under the blow for a moment, before focusing on a spell as the Necromancer took a break from his attacks to blather something about doom. Lyra finished her spell, and hurled a three meter spike of ice and arcane magic in the general vicinity of the Necromancer.

It went wide and embedded itself in one of the mud houses behind the Necromancer, who looked at it for a few moments, before turning back to her and laughing. "Pathetic. I was consider turning you into a Skeletal Mage, but after that performance, you're not worthy of anything more than parts for an abomination!" he said. "Still, you're quite pretty, perhaps I shall have some fun first...?"

Lyra roared theatricality and threw a stream of fire at him, which washed over his shield. She kept up the torrent for five, ten, then twenty seconds. A trickle of sweat forming on her brow and running down her nose as her arms began to tremble. It wasn't a very effective tactic, shields were damaged most in the first few moments of a spell's impact, and it was exhausting to cast sustained torrents. The normally done thing was several separate attacks spaced slightly apart. She wanted to appear either desperate or angry, either one would keep his confidence up and hopefully distract him.

The Necromancer laughed from behind his fore facing shield. "Oh now that got a response. Yes, throw everything you have at me _girl!_ The servants of the Lich King are invincible! Pathetic scum like you are barely fit for worm foo-" he was cut off, as a spear of ice was thrust into his skull from behind, emerging again from his mouth covered in brains and blood.

A giant ice elemental, more defined than when she had summoned it in the Provings, hovered behind him. It withdrew the spear in a shower of gore, and the Necromancer's body collapsed. Lyra had learnt in the Nexus War that you didn't need to be the strongest to win, you just had to be the cleverest. It had been clear when he had blocked her fire and then three pronged arcane missile attack so effortlessly that he was far more powerful and experienced than her, and this became even more apparent when her shields could barely deflect a glancing blow from one of his shadow lances. But he was also arrogant, and arrogant people made mistakes. If mighty ancient dragons could be brought down with a spear to the back of the skull, so could Necromancers.

"You talk to much," spat Lyra, incinerating his body. You could never be to careful with the Scourge.

She turned, looking for Moodle. He was currently leading the seven remaining ghouls in a merry chase around the barren ground outside the village. He slowly curved his run, seeing that she had defeated her opponent, leading the mindless ghouls back towards the village. Lyra began lobbing fire in arcs over his head, and by the time he had reached the village, no ghouls were moving.

Moodle didn't stop to thank her, but instead dashed into the village, checking on the dying Gorlocs.

"Help me, some of them are not too badly injured!" he implored.

She moved to assist him, and for the next few hours she bandaged wounds as best she could, purified water from the nearby befouled stream with spells, and tried to ease the passing of those who were beyond Moodle's ability to save. Moodle worked relentlessly, channelling the purified water she fetched into healing magic. Still, gifted as he seemed to be, there was only so much he could do.

"The Mosswalkers were good people... they did not deserve this," Moodle said as he cleared back some branches with controlled lighting blasts, making room for the five stretchers that Lyra was very carefully levitating deeper into the jungle, away from the blighted area. Of a village that Moodle had said once contained hundreds of Gorlocs, only five had been not too badly injured to save, and three of them were unlikely to survive the night.

They had retreated back into the jungle, slowly heading back towards the Northern pylon where Moodle's town, Rainspeaker Canopy, was located. They had burned the bodies before they left, as per Moodle's insistence. "They will _never_ be slaves to this 'Lich King.'" he had said as Lyra tearfully burned the small bodies as he asked.

Lyra had noticed that the blighted land abruptly stopped after a certain distance, after which, verdant green jungle sprang up, The foul river water from Icecrown also suddenly cleared at the same threshold, changing from one point to the next. It would seem that the other pylons were forming an invisible barrier against the Scourge and their taint, which would explain why the river they had followed for so long had been clear. Moodle seemed to have noticed as well.

"If the Scourge as you call them, and their taint, are repelled from the jungle by the pylons, how did they get inside the basin in the first place?" asked Moodle after some time.

"The Necromancer I killed, he was living," said Lyra. He was actually the first living person she had ever slain with her own hand, she realised. She wondered what it meant that she felt almost no remorse for her actions? Was she becoming cold and hard, as Nazgrim had said she would?

"Why would one of the living serve the dead?" asked Moodle a few minutes later.

"A lust for power? Sociopathy? I do not know Moodle," said Lyra, shaking her head. "I am so sorry for what happened to your people."

"We will have to guard the remaining pillars closely, the fate of the Mosswalkers cannot be allowed to befall any of the other tribes," said Moodle talking to himself, before turning back to eye her. "You have proven yourself a true friend Lyra, you risked your life to save them from a terrible fate. I will not forget this."

"I couldn't have done it without your help."

Moodle drew back his mouth in the gesture she had learnt was smiling. "But of course," he said, a sliver of his old arrogant self showing through before he turned back to his work of widening a path for the levitating litters.

Two of the Gorlocs died that night, and they found their still bodies in the morning when they awoke. Sponner and Loddle, had been their names, Moodle had said, before rushing off into the Jungle for an hour or so, returning with two glowing red shards of crystal.

"We need to dig a hole. It is customary for Gorlocs to be buried with shards of the crystals that grow on their home pylon," he said.

"Of course" said Lyra, shaping arcane energy into a shovel and digging out two deep graves. Then Moodle gentle placed the corpses of his fellows in the pits with the gems. Lyra pushed the dirt back with her hands as Moodle solemnly kicked at it with his powerful legs. They built a two stone cairns with rocks from the river on top of the disturbed dirt.

The other Gorlocs stirred briefly as they departed their makeshift camp, but Moodle gently shushed them after giving them some fish and water from the river, and told them to rest.

It took them three weeks to make it back to the northern pylon, though the going was made quicker when two of the Gorlocs, Joosh and Scromp had recovered enough that they no longer needed to be carried by litter. It was interesting, in comparison to Moodle the other adult Gorlocs acted like children: impulsive, loud, and with the attention span of gnats. Unlike Moodle they seemed to have largely forgotten about what happened, though Lyra noticed brief periods where they would stare downcast at times, unmoving, before bursting back into exuberant action. They were still endearing, though Lyra thought she knew why Moodle had become the way he was, since he was a genius – as he so often told her. A genius around child like people would have quickly become exasperated and learnt to talk down as a matter of course.

When they arrived at Rainspeaker Canopy they were greeted by even more excitable Gorlocs, though their enthusiasm dampened as they saw the litter, and rushed to bring it and its passenger into one of their huts. Joosh, Scromp, and Moodle wandered off after them, and Lyra was wondering what she should do when she heard a familiar voice ring out across the village.

"Apprentice! I was wondering where you had gone off to, I was starting to get worried," said Khadgar, striding over and ruffling her dark hair. She was not amused.

"Hello Master," she said, smoothing her hair back down. It was bad enough after months in the jungle, she didn't need him mucking it up even more.

"Did you get my note?" he asked.

"Note? No, I returned with a Gorloc who I met."

"Oh I see, so you've met these delightful people as well," said Khadgar. "It's a shame I have only been able to learn a little of their language."

Lyra grimaced, before cutting directly to the point," The eastern pylon was destroyed by the Scourge. The Mosswalkers, Gorlocs who had a village at the base... well, the are only three survivors."

"Oh no! The scourge can enter the jungle?" he said aghast. "Why have they not done so before?"

"No, the pylons repel them, and clean the water incidentally. I think a Human Necromancer must have destroyed the pylon – I killed one, in the village."

"Why on Azeroth did you engage a Scourge Necromancer!" exclaimed Khadgar. "You're only in your second year of apprenticeship! You could have-"

"Khadgar is it?" asked Moodle with a snap, cutting him off as he waddled out of the village. "Your apprentice fought bravely and unhesitatingly to save the lives of my fellows, while by all appearances you drank fruit juice and pottered around my village like an ass. The three remaining Mosswalkers who live do so only by _her_ hand; skilled as I am there is no way I could have defeated the Necromancer in combat. I do not know much of your culture, but in mine, selfless heroism is praised, not condemned. And yet you leap to chastise her for her actions... does that seem fair to you?"

"Well, I suppose when you put it like that," said Khadgar, sheepishly. "Mr. ...?"

"Moodle," he said. "Lyra and I met on my way to investigate what had happened to the Mosswalkers. She had many colourful things to say about you. I believe 'fucking Khadgar, and his fucking jungle' featured prominently. I believe I am beginning to see why she was so irritated by her memories of you that she periodically needed to incinerate trees to relieve the stress."

"I see, ah, Moodle," said Khadgar, clearly not prepared for being insulted by the Gorloc. "Well Lyra, I'm sorry – I was merely concerned," The he turned back to the Gorloc. "And how can you talk common?"

"I met some Humans in the southern wastes a few years ago," sniffed Moodle.

"I wouldn't have engaged the Necromancer if there weren't lives on the line," said Lyra, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was exhausted after channelling levitation spells for almost two weeks, and just wanted to lie down, not argue.

"How did you manage to slay him?" Khadgar asked.

"He didn't notice me summon a water elemental behind him, he just thought I had missed with a shard of ice," she said with a shrug. "He was too busy talking about how he was going to do awful things to me to notice the arcane weaved into it."

"I hope you said something clever; I would have gone for ' _chill_ _out_ ,' myself," said Khadgar.

"Somehow that kind of witness manage to elude me."

"Not to worry apprentice, I'm sure you'll do better in future," said Khadgar ruffling her hair again.

"Khadgar," interjected Moodle again, speaking as if he hadn't just insulted the Archmage and ignoring their nonsense. "My people are few, and Lyra has proven she is a friend. I gather from her that you are somewhat important – though from what I can tell this isn't based on merit – do your people have the resources to help us defend the pylons?"

"I'm sure we can probably spare some, they might also learn how to replicate the undead repelling qualities, which would be of a great help. Yes, we will be able to help you," he said. "Do you know of the southerly path that leads from the basin, that is how we managed to enter."

"Yes, we can send guides to meet your people there," nodded Moodle.

"Excellent, excellent," she Khadgar. "Now Lyra, what is this about cursing my name?"

"I would very much appreciate it master, if we could leave this hot, bug infested jungle," said Lyra stiffly, ignoring the question.

"All in good time apprentice. I need a few more days to finish up some research here with the Rainspeakers, but then we shall swiftly depart my, ah, hot 'fucking jungle.'" he said. "I guess you could say I'm not quite... _burnt out_ yet."

Lyra blinked for a few seconds, before turning. "I am going to go and find a nice soft patch of moss and go to sleep. Wake me when it's time to leave."

 


	9. Chapter 9

It turned out that Moodle could get something called an 'Ambassador's Stipend for Non-Currency using Friendly Societies,' an ASNCFS, apparently. It was significantly more generous than her own, so Lyra didn't even need to give up her occasional solo trips to bars and cafes in Dalaran for when Khadgar was being annoying in order to let her friend come to the city. Khadgar was also more than happy to give Moodle visiting fellowship status, on the condition that he "not be told off any more."

Moodle refused to promise anything.

"So you're sure this is safe?" asked Moodle as they were about to depart. "De-materialisation sounds like one of the stupidest things a person could do to themselves."

"Entirely safe Ambassador, I assure you," said Khadgar. "I have done this thousands of times."

"That may explain much about you," replied Moodle, shifting from leg to leg worriedly. "Perhaps repeated use leads to brain damage."

"Well if you don't trust me to do it, my apprentice is also capable of teleporting another person with her," said Khagdar, trying to keep his voice diplomatic.

"She has done more to demonstrate her skill to me than you, who just seem to sit around eating conjured 'cake' and butchering my native tongue. So I suppose if I must be de-materialised to get to your city, then I would prefer she handles things," said Moodle, reaching up a stubby arm and placing it in Lyra's outstretched hand. His two small fingers were small and scaly, and gripped hers with a slight tremble. He was clad in a bundle of furs, in preparation for what he expected would be the incredible cold of Dalaran. He also had a small bag with the writing he had been working on, and some slippers.

"Alright, off we go then," said Khadgar, disappearing in a pillar of arcane light.

"And you are sure about this Lyra?" asked Moodle, eyeing the area Khadgar had just departed.

"Yes Moodle," she said, rolling her eyes and beginning the spell.

They emerged in the lodestone room of Dalaran, the exit point for all portals and teleports. Due to the real possibility of an attack through a portal, it was heavily guarded at all times, the defenders ready to instantly disconnect the guiding matrix of the load-stone if a large group of enemy warriors were to suddenly appear in the room.

Lyra felt Moodle's hand shiver in her own, and he let go in order to withdraw some fur shoes he had made and put them on his feet.

"What is that!" exclaimed one of the mage-guard, raising his staff.

"That is Ambassador Moodle of the Rainspeakers, and more generally, the Gorloc People," said Khadgar. "You will treat him with respect, otherwise I suspect he will give you a thorough and invective filled telling off."

"Oh, sorry Archmage," said the mage-guard sheepishly.

"It isn't as cold as the Borean Tundra," said Moodle, ignoring the guard and talk to Lyra. "But it still is cold, if this is how you normally live no wonder you had such a miserable time in the basin."

They strolled through the streets towards the Violet Citadel, and Lyra could tell Moodle was impressed. He got several rather confused looks from passers by, but the presence of Khadgar dissuaded people from approaching. One didn't want to waste an Archmage's time after all.

"So this floating city, and the buildings, they are all created with your magic?" asked Moodle.

"Yes," said Khadgar, "Well, some of the smaller buildings were done by hand, but the towers were raised with magic."

"Hmm. And it is possible to learn this skill? Or is it innate?"

"It is possible for all sapient races to learn magic, though it is different from the shamanism you seem to perform."

"Shamanism?" he asked.

"Your ability to conjure and direct lightning, and your orbiting water orb," he said, gesturing to the ball that raced around Moodle's head at all times except when he was sleeping.

"What does the orb do exactly?" asked Lyra.

"It helps me speak to the water and the air," said Moodle. "So there are others who can do what I, and several others in my tribe, do?"

"Yes, it is most commonly practised amongst the Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren. Though the Draenei have a small tradition also. Though others also manipulate fire and earth," said Khadgar.

"There are legends of great mystics directing the earth and fire, but the art was lost by my rather dim forebears. Perhaps that would be a better for me to study, rather than attempting an entirely different discipline."

There were, once the rest of the Council of Six realised they had a new ambassador, several fairly boring speeches and a dinner. Normally Lyra would have found a way to slink off home, often alongside a fleeing Khadgar, but she didn't want to leave Moodle to the mercy of bureaucrats. The little man might have been acerbic and at times grating, but Lyra had seen who he really was back at the ruined Mosswalker village; he was brave, loyal, and cared deeply for others.

By the end of the night Lyra was beginning to reconsider such a generous appraisal of his character. Moodle had managed to insult perhaps half a dozen fairly important members of the Kirin Tor, and quite possibly forever tarnished Kaldorei-Gorloc relations by suggesting that the Darnassian ambassador had been dropped on her head as a child. The only person other than Lyra that Moodle didn't seem to offend was the troll ambassador, who laughed raucously whenever Moodle insulted him, his intelligence, or his ancestors.

"Hah! That's a good one!" laughed the troll, who had taken the Kaldorei's seat when she had left in disgust. The troll was now picking at the remnants of her abandoned salad, and sipping at her expensive imported wine. "It's refreshing having an ambassador who speaks his mind! You'd do well in the Horde."

"Lyra, this man appears to be attempting to manipulate me; in your opinion, is he either and idiot to think that such a transparent display will have any effect on me, or is he drunk on that stuck-up woman's grape juice? Or perhaps both?"

"I... I um..." said Lyra, trying to shrink back into her padded chair. Why was he dragging her into this? Moodle might be essentially untouchable as an ambassador from a people who probably didn't care at all what any representatives of Dalaran, Darnassus, Orgrimmar, or anywhere else thought of them, but _she_ definitely could get into trouble if she pissed off the Horde. The Kirin Tor was viewed as bias by them already. She saw Khadgar looking at her and shaking his head rapidly.

"Haha!" laughed the troll again, slamming his fist onto the table, tears streaming out of his eyes. Lyra wasn't sure what was so funny. "Trying to get her into trouble too? I like you man! You have style."

Then again, the troll ambassador seemed to subscribe to a similar mode of diplomacy, so maybe Moodle knew what he was doing?

Thankfully Khadgar came to the rescue. "Ambassador Vel'teth, Ambassador Moodle has expressed interest in the shamanistic arts; he is, according to my apprentice, already quite skilled with lightning and healing. Perhaps you would be able to recommend a tutor for him?"

"Hmm. Yes, I can do that," said the troll, pouring himself more night-elf wine. "I'll draw up a list and send it to your embassy, Ambassador," Moodle's 'embassy' was an apartment that he hadn't been to yet, but Lyra thought that would be undiplomatic to mention.

"Well, perhaps you aren't entirely useless after all," said Moodle, before swivelling back towards her and asking in a stage-whisper. "Lyra, your supposed mentor appears to be attempting to drive the Gorloc People into a compact with the Horde; in your opinion, is the Kirin Tor biased towards the Horde or the Alliance? In other words, is this an attempt to cement Horde dominance, or is he trying to somehow engineer a rift that will push us into the arms of the Alliance?"

"Please stop that Moodle," hissed Lyra, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know this is a game to you, but Khadgar will be very cross with me if I go along with your nonsense."

"Here I am, a poor naïve ambassador, just arrived in the city, only for the first time dealing with the wider world, and what does my supposed guide and friend do? She abandons me!" he said, before turning back to the troll. "Does that seem right to you?"

"Nah man, doesn't seem right at all," said the troll, shaking his head and grinning.

Lyra supposed she was glad at least some people were having fun.

* * *

"Apprentice, please tell me you didn't know he would be like that when you suggested he become ambassador for the Gorlocs," said Khadgar once they were back in their quarters, a few dozen floors above the official banquet hall where the reception had been.

"I... well I didn't think he would be that bad," said Lyra, attempting to shift towards her room without appearing to do so. "He is actually pretty nice to me."

"He seemed to take active delight in tormenting the other ambassadors. I thought Ambassador Delina was going to smite him," said Khadgar, pointing his hand at her door and closing it with telekinesis, locking it in the process.

"He only respects people who, in his eyes, have earned it," said Lyra. Trying to undo whatever Khadgar had done to to her door as she held her hands behind her back. She didn't have much success. Her door rattled.

"From what I gather, that is just you," said Khadgar, crossing his arms.

"That isn't _my_ fault," she said, turning and peering at her door handle, trying to work out how the locking spell worked.

"Unfortunately he is going to be invited as a matter of course to _every single_ diplomatic function in the city from now on," said Khadgar. "And do you know what? I've decided you're going to chaperone him apprentice, to _every single_ function that he attends while you are in Dalaran. You created this mess, you're going to deal with it."

"That doesn't seem exactly fair," she muttered. Oh, it had fused the bolt into the socket, easy enough to counter. She waved her hand, unlocking it again.

"It's entirely fair," said Khadgar, stamping a foot. Wow, thought Lyra, he must really be annoyed; he'd never done that before, not even when she'd accidentally killed his pot plant. "Now, starting tomorrow we are going to be doing some research on Titan constructs. The Rainspeaker's gave me some of their crystals, and I want to see if they are related to the undead repelling properties of the pylons. I'm afraid we will be in Dalaran for quite a while; don't worry though, you will have plenty of time to attend the functions."

"Of course master," she said with an exaggerated curtsy.

Khadgar narrowed his eyes.

"But it would hardly be appropriate for an apprentice to attend such august events without her master," she continued with a grin.

Khadgar thought for a moment before slumping. " _Touché_ apprentice."


	10. Chapter 10

Lyra sighed happily and lay back in the grass, reaching into her bag for the tome on conjuration she was reading. They might have had a scary sounding name, but the Grizzly Hills were the nicest part of Northrend. Not too cold, not too hot, just right. Yes, this area was quite _bearable_.

Lyra frowned, she was getting as bad as Khadgar. What's worse, she didn't actually seem to find that distressing.

It had been six months since they had returned from Scholazar. They had spent a few months researching the crystals, but it had been a dead end. Whatever kept the Scourge out of the basin was in the pylons themselves, not the crystals which grew on and around them. The Mages guarding the three that remained weren't having much luck either.

She and Khadgar had spent some time on the Icecrown front, but it had mainly been waiting around and trying to ignore the paladins that were stationed with them. She did get to throw lots of fire off the battlements though, so that was fun. Arcane was good, and frost _'worked'_ against undead, but neither were quite so incredibly destructive to reanimated corpses as fire was.

Tonight they were staying in Ambermill, a small village made up of Human trappers and lumberjacks. There had been some strange reports of travellers going missing, and Khadgar, who was nosey, had taken it upon himself to investigate. Lyra didn't mind, it got her away from those god awful banquets.

The locals had been a bit weird though, they had all smiled such toothy grins when they realised that Khadgar and Lyra meant to stay the night. It was creepy, there was such a thing as being too hospitable.

"Ahh there you are apprentice," said Khadgar, striding around the tree she had been hiding behind. "I wanted to go and have a look at the old Troll ruins nearby. We still have a few hours of daylight left, and there are full moons tonight, so we will easily be able to find our way back."

"Must we _T_ _ _roll__ through ruins? Can't we just have a quiet read?" asked Lyra.

"That was awful apprentice," he said grinning. "Now come on, you can lay in the grass pretending to study later."

She grumbled but agreed. Standing and smoothing her short hair back down. She had had to cut it after they returned from Scholazar, since it had become so matted and strewn with leaves and mud and sweat that there were almost certainly things living in it. It had been a mistake, however, since now Khadgar took every opportunity to muss it up, which he did almost immediately after she smoothed it down. Lyra was considering figuring out a way to putting a curse on it to zap him or something.

The Troll ruins turned out to be fairly boring. Most of the murals looked as if they had been attacked by a beast with great claws, and were unable to be read. Khadgar was a big proponent of learning languages, so she had been struggling for a while with Zandali, but even Khadgar couldn't make head nor tales of the ruined murals. The only excitement had been all the giant spiders, though they had quickly skedaddled when Lyra had started shooting fire at them.

"Things looked like they were getting a bit... _hairy,_ back there. Eh, apprentice?"

"Shut up Khadgar," said Lyra, trying to pick webbing off her clothes.

The had begun to make their way back to the town when the first sliver of the bright full moons began to peak over the Howling Peaks behind them. It had also started to rain, but whereas lesser adventurers might have been soaked, she and Khadgar had both conjured umbrella shields. Still that didn't help with the ground, which quickly became sodden, slippery and muddy.

They were just approaching the town when they heard a howl, then a scream. Both she and Khadgar looked at each other,

"Worgen?" she ventured.

"Worgen," nodded Khadgar.

They broken into a run towards the town, there had been a few people staying in the inn; two night elves and a family of dwarves. The night elves had been armed and could probably handle themselves, at least for a while, but the dwarves had been a family of carpenters.

A white shape blurred from the shadows between two building towards Khadgar as they ran. Reacting quickly he blasted it with a shard of ice, nailing it to the side of a building through its shoulder. They both skidded to a stop and examined the thrashing monster. It struggled and gnashed its teeth, but there was no way it was getting off that wall.

"It would seem that things in Ambermill get a bit... _hairy_ after dark _,"_ said Khadgar.

"You've already used that one today," said Lyra, shaking her head.

"Oh, drat. Perhaps... it looks like we see their true _nature_ after dark?"

"That's just poetic, not a pun," said Lyra, scanning the town for movement.

"Damn. Give me a minute," he said, turning and moving back into town again.

Lyra snickered and followed. "I suppose this explains why the townsfolk were so happy we were planning on staying the night. _Lycan't_ believe anyone would be that friendly."

"Very nice apprentice, you'll be an Archmage in no time," said Khadgar, blasting a worgen away that lunged at them from a rooftop and pinning it with arcane chains. "Though it doesn't explain why they have Human forms during the day. But for now, I suggest we hurry."

A few more worgen rushed at them, though Khadgar was far to quick for them. Lyra even managed to freeze one of them in place. It snarled and gnashed and swiped at her, but was encased in ice up to its waist and couldn't move at all.

They managed to make it to the centre of the town before too long, and leapt up the steps to the inn and tore open the door. There were several worgen inside gorging themselves at a bloodied corpse, it looked as if it had been one of the dwarves. The worgen stopped and looked up, before abandoning their meals and lunging at them. Unfortunately for them, the closed quarters meant they were unable to dodge the torrent of arcane magic that Khadgar unleashed.

"Check upstairs, there were two night-elves. I'll take downstairs, there were a few dwarven children that might be still hiding," said Khadgar.

"Got it," she said, not bothering with the stairs and blinking straight up to the mezzanine. She emerged from the warped space in front of a long corridor, at the end of which were three worgen clawing at a door, tearing large rents of wood off it. They snarled when they saw her appear, and two bounded towards her.

She caught the first one in the chest with an icicle as thick as her arm, causing it to crumple immediately. The other she turned into a sheep just before it reached her. It baaed angrily at her. She ran forward, a fireball arcing from her fingertips and knocking the worgen out the window at the end of the corridor as it turned to confront her.

"Is anyone in there?" she called out. "We need to leave, now!"

The door moved a fraction and a glowing eye peered out. "They are gone?"

There was a crash from below, some snarls, an explosion, and a Khadgar like shout. Then there were more sounds like glass being shattered and the thumping of dozens of bodies hitting the floor.

"For now. But we need to get out of here, my master or I can teleport you back to Dalaran."

"We cannot, we are delivering vital information to Zul'drak, by the time we fly from Dalaran, it will be too late!" said the elf woman, opening the door fully revealing her long shining blade and leather armour. Behind her was a male night elf, also armed with a sword and clad in brown leathers.

"Lyra! I'm teleporting out now. One of the dwarf children is badly injured, follow me immediately!" she heard from below. "There are hundreds of them coming!"

"No, wait Master!" she yelled, but she had already felt his teleport spell engage and there was a glow from beneath the floorboards. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. We have to teleport out right now."

"We cannot, this information is vital!" said the elf.

"There are hundreds! We need to go, and we need to go _now_ ," said Lyra, grabbing for her arm, the woman dodged out of her reach.

"The Vrykul have sided with the Lich King, they will doubtlessly be preparing to march on Zul'drak as we speak! If they are not already under way. They would catch the Crusade completely off guard!"

"And what, you couldn't have taken a gryphon?" asked Lyra, pulling at her hair. A worgen emerged at the end of the corridor and began running at them. She conjured a wall of ice, blocking the way, and the worgen smashed into it with a thud. Cracks began to appear, it wouldn't last long.

"They were all killed, along with most of our comrades, in the attack upon Fort Wildervar! This is out first stop in days, we have been running ever since we left the Fjord," said the woman. "We cannot go to Dalaran! The Vrykul may be just behind us."

Lyra cursed and looked out the window, then put her leg up on the sill. There were thuds on the other side of her ice wall. "We can go out the window. Then we can make a break for the river, it is only about a kilometre to the west."

"How will we outrun them?" asked the man, stepping forward. "And what good will the river do?"

"The river is incredibly fast flowing, and I should be able to blink us all across; they won't be able to follow," said Lyra. "As for outrunning them, I don't know. But if we stay here we die."

"You are right, and perhaps with a Mage on our side, we may yet live," said the woman. Lyra didn't look back, and jumped out onto the tiled roof. She almost slipped, but managed to keep her balance. The two night-elves followed her out much more gracefully. From the roof she could see the steaming corpse of the worgen she had hit with her fireball below.

The woman dropped to the ground gracefully and held her weapon aloft, scanning the street. Lyra jumped down behind her with a slight slow fall, and the man landed gracefully beside her.

"We do not appear to have been seen," said the woman. "Quickly, we should use this to our advantage."

They crept down the dusty street, heading westward and trying to keep to the shadows. Then there was a howl behind them. They had been spotted.

"Run!" yelled the man. Lyra didn't need to be told twice.

They heard thudding behind them and Lyra glanced over her shoulder. At least sixty worgen were charging after them, quickly gaining ground, their four legged gait faster than her groups two. Lyra conjured a fireball and hurled it over her shoulder. There was a feral scream indicating she had hit something, but the thudding continued.

They passed the edges of the town and Lyra skidded to a halt, before turning and closing her eyes.

"What are you doing?" screamed the woman. "We need you to cross the river!"

Lyra ignored her and began to pool her magic and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She could hear the thunderous footfalls of the Worgen growing closer, but she shut it out and focused on the ebb and flow of arcana around her. Ambermill, the noise, the smells of blood, the fear, all of it fell away as she drank and drank from the cosmos. Energy began building under her feet and she felt it begin to roar upwards around her in a maelstrom of energy. Though her eyes were shut she knew that she would now be bathed in a torrent of blue magic.

Lyra she snapped her eyes open, they blazed with arcane might. In a single swift motion she uncrossed her arms, drawing them outwards, the collected energy shifting and springing forth at her command. The closest Worgen, who were perhaps only five meters from her were instantly disintegrated as a wall of fire erupted between the two outer buildings of the town, easily ten meters high, twenty across and five deep.

There were howls of pain and fear, as the worgen lucky enough to not have been caught in the back reeled away from her terrible flames.

Lyra sagged from the effort, black creeping at the edges of her vision. The strong Kaldorei woman grabbed her and hauled her over her shoulder, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the river. Lyra bounced around painfully on the woman's bony shoulder, but did not complain, instead focusing on mustering up the focus she would need in order to blink all three of them across the river. The spots in her vision began to slowly clear, but she still felt as if she had been run over by a kodo. There was a reason that channelling raw evocation into a spell directly, rather than using it to recharge ones reserves a little, was generally considered a _bad idea_ , even if it did allow the Mage to perform a single spell an order of magnitude stronger of what they were normally capable of.

She saw from her position worgen begin to emerge from around the building, after the Kaldorei had covered around what she estimated was half the distance to the river. The worgen began to close again, and the male night elf shouted for them to run faster. The woman put on even more speed, but Lyra could tell, as incredibly fit as she was, that she was beginning to flag. The worgen closed, and Lyra raised her head to see how close they were to the river.

"Put me down, we are close enough for me to blink!" she said. The woman obeyed, and placed her on the ground as she slowed. They both grabbed her arms and Lyra focused on the opposite bank, the distance was OK, though at the upper end of her range. Normally she could do this instantly, but she had to be careful with two passengers. She quickly did a few mental calculations and began to bridge the space.

"Hurry!" said the male, his large fingers digging into her arm. She heard snarling nearby but ignored it, focusing on the weave of the spell. "They are almost-" She activated the spell, and space warped.

They emerged about a meter above the shallows of the opposite bank, and landed with a crash. Lyra collapsed, and blacked out for a few seconds. When she emerged back into conciousness the night elf woman was staring down at her.

"We owe you our lives Mage," said the woman. "And your actions may save many crusaders."

"Where is the man?" she croaked

"Thranduil has run on ahead, we should have never have stopped; even though we were exhausted."

Lyra heard a howl and sat up, rubbing her head. The hundred or so Worgen on the opposite bank were snarling and clawing at the ground, but the torrent of snow melt than separated them was too violent for them to attempt to cross, and they were beginning to slink slowly back off to their town.

"I... I need to get back to Dalaran," she said, trying to stand. "My master will be having kittens."

"Are you able to teleport?" asked the Kaldorei, helping her up.

"Yes, I... I just need a few moments," she said, fishing a potion out of her bag. Mana potions were helpful, but addictive, very unhealthy and caused a terrible hangover like feeling minutes after drinking them. "This will help too."

"Before you go I would know your name," said the woman.

"Oh, uh, Lyra," she said.

"Thank-you Lyra. I am Selia of Darnassus."

"Oh, um a pleasure," she said, downing the foul tasting liquid. "I had better go, you'll be alright? I can take you back with me if you like."

"I must catch up with Thranduil," she said, turning to leave. "I hope our paths cross again, for a Mage, you are honourable."

Lyra nodded and activated her teleport spell, the world spinning around her briefly before resolving into the lodestone room in Dalaran.

"Lyra!" yelled a blue-grey blur that collided with her, lifting her off the ground in a vice like grip and sobbing. "Light I'm so sorry, I thought..."

"Ugh, gerrof Khadgar, I'm fine," she said, trying to extricate herself from her distraught master.

"Are you alright?" he demanded. "I shouldn't have left, I just thought..."

"Speak less loudly please," she said, wincing, the affects of the mana potion already kicking in. "I'm fine, I didn't get bitten. The night elves who were upstairs had urgent information for the Crusade, and it would take too long to fly from Dalaran; they say the Vrykul have joined the Lich King. I couldn't just leave them, so I ran with them down to the river and blinked them across it. The worgen couldn't follow."

"You- you look terrible," he said, placing her back on the ground and peering at her face as tears streamed down his. "I'm so sorry Lyra, I-"

"It's fine Khadgar, is the kid OK? And thanks, by the way, that's what every teenage girl wants to hear," she grumbled.

"Yes they are with the healers now, though they were bitten, they might not be able to suppress the curse," he said. "How did you outrun the worgen?"

"I used an evocation-shunt into a firewall to slow them down, and I've had a mana potion so I would be able to teleport back. So yes, I don't feel great."

"Well lets get you to bed then," he said, wiping his eyes are ruffling her hair. "You must be _dog_ tired."

"That is so forced, and they're wolves, not dogs," said Lyra, disgusted. "You're losing your touch Khadgar, maybe time to packit in?"

"Perhaps, no use _mooning_ over ones past glories after all," he said with a grin.

"You're barking up the wrong tree if you think this nonsense will impress me," said Lyra, shaking her head.


	11. Chapter 11

As it turned out the Vrykul were not marching immediately on Zul'drak. Instead they concentrated their efforts on destroying the Crusade, Alliance and Horde fortresses, ports and outposts in the Howling Fjord. The Vrykuls' numbers had also somehow more than doubled. Previously their numbers had been estimated at no more than perhaps 30,000 across nearly two hundred settlements in the Fjord. But suddenly there were easily twice that number, most of whom seemed to be emanating from Utgard Keep. How the castle had managed to sustain such a hidden number for years with only small shipments of food observed entering was an utter mystery.

The allied forces had begun to retreat almost immediately, ceding outpost after outpost as they retreated up into the Grizzly Hills and down to the tips of the fjord. The only force that seemed to be holding their own against the giants were the Forsaken, who were employing some kind of horrific chemical weaponry.

While the Vrykul were a pressing concern, Khadgar and Lyra had returned to the Grizzly Hills. The Worgen were an unknown, and unknowns in war were very bad.

The disappearances had only begun only a few months ago, which implied that the Worgen were a recent phenomenon, though only the Alliance had the full records. They were also strange in that these Worgen unlike the Worgen of Duskwood or Silverpine, in that they were able to assume Human form and possessed Human-level intelligence.

"So you think it might be the Scourge?" asked Lyra as her Gryphon soared over the river that divided the Dragonblight and the Grizzly Hills.

"Possibly, I've been trying to think of who might benefit, and I can't think of anyone else." said the large black raven that flew beside her in Khadgar's voice. "It would serve their interests well. If they manage to take the hills they will control almost two thirds of the continent."

"Though we won't be able to hold the hills anyway, not with the Vrykul; there are too many passes to defend against from the Fjord, we will end up retreating back to Southern Zul'drak; it is only a matter of time."

"True, though the Worgen began causing disappearances before the Vrykul joined the Scourge, it is possible that the Scourge began turning people into Worgen as a backup plan." said Khadgar. "In-case they couldn't secure the Vrykul's allegiance."

"Still. The magic involved isn't necromantic at all, it is based in the arcane; I don't know where they would have got the expertise to create Worgen. All of Argul's research is sealed in the Violet Citadel's secret library; only you or someone else on the Council of Six could have accessed it."

"Yes that is disturbing." said the raven.

"That would imply, if it is indeed the Scourge, that there is a traitor on the council." she said.

"That is hard to believe... though we should not discount any possibilities." said Khadgar slowly.

"Well then lets go through the possible suspects." said Lyra. "I doubt it is Lady Proudmoore, she has a long history battling the Scourge; not Krasus either, he's a Red Dragon; and not Aethas Sunreaver – Arthas committed genocide against his people on his way to the Sunwell."

"So you think Ansirem Runeweaver or Modera?" he asked.

"I must admit I would be surprised by Modera; but I don't know Runeweaver very well. He also doesn't have an apprentice, whereas Modera does. Not having a pesky student following them around would make it easier to get up to traitorous things." said Lyra.

"And you don't suspect me?" asked the raven with a laugh. "I suppose you're my pesky student."

"You've barely left my sight in the past three years; apart from the month or so in Scholazar; and you're a _terrible_ liar. I'd know, or have to be in on it to, and _I_ know that I'm not." she said. "Although... it could be an apprentice I suppose. You just leave your signet ring lying around our apartment sometimes, I could steal it pretty easily if I wanted to get into the secret library. Also, an apprentice would be the quickest way to get access to the secrets of the Kirin Tor, we take your minutes for the council meetings after all."

"That means we must widen our circle to Modera's apprentice Tzargo, Aethas' apprentice Sela'tha Brightwing – though she's a blood elf so we can _probably_ cross her off, and Krasus's apprentice Tilly Fizzlebang." said the raven. "And you had better not have been stealing my signet."

"I would never do something so dastardly!" she protested.

"Says the woman who used to sneak into the Kirin Tor's library as a child." he shot back.

"Well I haven't," Lyra sniffed, "though I admit I have thought about it... only hypothetically of course."

"Hah! I knew it." said the raven. "You are a scoundrel, apprentice."

"Well, lets get back to the matter at hand." she said, trying to deflect the conversation away from her sneaky habits. "And you didn't list me as a suspect."

"Your parents were killed by the Scourge, and you lived in a Dalaran orphanage from when you were two until you were sixteen. Also, while you can be incredibly devious, I am positive you are not a Scourge agent; you're not sneaking off at night, I hear you snoring through the wall." said Khadgar.

"Hey! I don't snore." she said.

"So that leaves us with Modera, Tzargo, Tilly Fizzlebang, and Ansirem Runeweaver as suspects." said Khadgar, ignoring her protests. "I think we can tentatively remove Modera."

"Why? Because you're dating her now?" she said. "You can't tell when _I'm_ lying, what makes you think you could you tell with someone who has seduced you?"

"Seduced me? I thought it was the other way around." said Khadgar with a laugh. "Fine, though I am sure it is not her."

"Runeweaver is perhaps unlikely because he was the head of the Six when Dalaran was sacked by the Scourge." said Lyra.

"Yes, his wife died in the attack I believe." said Khadgar.

"Ok, well Tzargo is nice, but I don't have any _evidence_ it isn't him, but I have barely said two words to Tilly. Hmm..."

"Hmm?" asked Khadgar.

"She has been Krasus' apprentice for less than six months, and the disappearances we believe were Worgen began what, four months ago? It's _very_ circumstantial, but worth investigating."

"Agreed." said Khadgar.

* * *

They landed at Amberpine lodge. It was an Alliance outpost downriver from Ambermill, and had been on high alert since they had learned that their neighbours were not, in fact, hospitable and friendly lumberjacks.

"So... if we're not going to Ambermill, how are we going to investigate the Worgen?" asked Lyra.

"We are going to go and see if the commander of this outpost has all the reports on the disappearances, and then trying and piece some kind of picture together." said Khadgar. "It might tell us the general area to start looking."

The commander was a dour faced woman in her sixties who was decidedly unhelpful and incredibly unimaginative. Her office was at the top of the outpost's large stone tower, and was filled with terrible still life paintings of sad looking dogs, which Lyra thought oddly fitting for such a woman. Lyra suspected she had been assigned to the outpost because it was in the middle of nowhere, and until recently, strategically unimportant.

"No." said the commander. "We haven't plotted the disappearances on a map."

"Well, alright, my apprentice and I can do that, if you just give us the files." said Khadgar.

"I can't do that, you need to be a captain or above in the Alliance military to access reports without special dispensation."

"I see... I am an Archmage you know." said Khadgar. "On the Council of Six in fact, I rather outrank a captain."

"Sorry, you're not in the Alliance military, the regulations-" she said.

"Damn you regulations!" said Khadgar. "All I want are the location and the dates of the disappearances, how is _that_ an Alliance military secret?"

"The regulations-" began the woman. Khadgar's hand twitched and Lyra thought she saw a spark arc between his fingers.

"Um, how - how does one go about getting this special dispensation you mentioned?" asked Lyra, cutting the woman off before she had a fireball thrown at her.

"You have to submit a form to the closest alliance senior bureaucrat or military officer in charge of the files." said the woman. "Then you may have to wait for up to six weeks for the form to be processed before receiving a response."

"And the nearest senior military officer is... you, correct?" asked Lyra.

"Yes, but you need to fill in the form." she said.

"Alright," said Lyra slowly. "May we have the form please?"

"You'll need to see the quartermaster." she said.

"And where might be find them?" asked Lyra.

"Oh, Stonehammer disappeared two weeks ago, their replacement is still being processed." she said.

"So what you're saying is..." began Lyra. "We can't get the form to give you, in order for you to let us look at the files concerning to Worgen disappearances, because without seeing the quartermaster, who is missing likely due to the Worgen, we can't obtain the form to give to you."

"Yes. That's right." nodded the woman.

Khadgar banged his head noisily against the door frame. "Can you assign a new quartermaster then?" he asked.

"Oh no, that is still before the Amberpine lodge officers' committee, we won't meet again until next Wednesday." said the Commander.

"Look you recalcitrant woman, I know you think your pencil pushing and regulations are important, but if my apprentice and I don't figure out what the Worgen are up to, there is a very real possibility that in the next few weeks your outpost will come under attack said Worgen." said Khadgar angrily. "Especially if the Scourge is directing them, as we believe they are."

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to see those files." she said blankly. "The regulations clearly state-"

"Arrgh!" yelled Khadgar, throwing up his arms and stomping out of her office.

"Um, on a completely unrelated note, you wouldn't be able to tell me where your archive is housed?" asked Lyra.

"On the second floor." said the woman immediately, turning back to her paperwork.

"Thanks." said Lyra, scurrying after her mentor.

She caught up to him on the bottom floor. "Wait Khadgar, the archives are on the second floor."

"But we can't see them because that infuriating woman is dangerously officious!" he said, fuming. "Honestly, she might as well work for the Scourge! No I take that back, at least the Scourge aren't bureaucratic!"

"Really master, come on. We're Mages, not Murlocs; what is a locked door to us? I bet it isn't even warded."

"We can't just go breaking into Alliance archives." he said slowly.

"Sure we can." she said. "What are they going to do, wave their pointy metal sticks at us?"

Khadgar considered this for a few moments. "The second floor you say?"

It turned out that the only thing keeping the archives shut was an old rusty lock. However, there were two bored looking guards stationed outside it, complicating matters slightly.

"They are going to notice us." hissed Khadgar to her from where they were hiding just around the corner. "Invisible or not, they will see and hear the door opening."

"Hmm..." said Lyra. "Alright then, we create a distraction."

"What kind?" he asked. Lyra grinned at him.

"Hey!" she yelled, rushing out from behind the corner. "What are you still doing here?"

"I uh... what?" said a guard, confused.

"Didn't you hear? There's a fire drill!" said Lyra.

"Oh, um, no, we didn't." said the guard, frowning.

"Well what are you doing just standing there!?" she yelled. "You know how the commander is about meeting regulation evacuation speeds! Do you _want_ to have to resit the fire safety course?"

The guard's eyes widened at the mention of the commander, and having to resit something. "Oh shit, come on Gus! We gotta go!"

They rushed off down the corridor and Lyra snickered. Khadgar joined her, his arms were crossed but he seemed to be trying not to smile. It took Lyra less than a second to open the door. She pushed the handle and beckoned to Khadgar, who came in behind her.

"Apprentice, they are going to realise there isn't any fire drill." said Khadgar drily. "Probably in a few moments."

"Yes, but now I'm re-locking the door, see? We should have enough time to find at the files before they can get in." she said, locking the door and placing a curse on it, meaning even the right key wouldn't work any more. Well the right key would still work if they could get it into the lock, but it would zap anyone who tried. Lyra had tried applying the same spell to her hair to stop Khadgar messing it up, but it had just kept repeatedly electrocuting her. Painfully.

"So we're _stealing_ the files now?" asked Khadgar with a sigh. "Apprentice, you are a terrible influence on me. I used to be a widely respected hero of Azeroth! And now look at me, acting like a petty criminal."

"I prefer the term 'borrowing.'" she said, running her hands over the neatly labelled files that lined the walls. "We can give them back when were done if."

"Modera is going to be so angry with me..." he muttered, turning to search as well.

It didn't take them long to find the relevant reports, since everything was filed _beautifully_. They were a bit bulky, but Khadgar could still carry them fairly easily under one arm.

There was a bang on the door and the sound of the handle rattling.

"Hey! There wasn't a fire drill at all! We know you're in there!" came the voice of the guard Lyra had spoken with just before. "OW! They've done some funny magic to the lock Gus! Quick, help me knock it down."

There were some loud thuds as the guards repeatedly ran at the solid oak door.

"Now what?" hissed Khadgar.

"Easy," said Lyra with a grin, fading from view with an invisibility spell. "They will think we managed to escape somehow – we are tricky Mages after all – then we walk out the door behind them. We can meet up down behind that big rock by the river."

"You are entirely too comfortable with this..." said Khadgar, fading from view himself.

The door held for a collision or two more, but then collapsed inwards. The guards ran in with their swords drawn.

"Stop right there criminal... they've gone! How...?" said the talkative guard as Lyra stepped smartly around him and into the corridor.

"They must have been the visiting Mages." said the guard who must have been Gus in a slow, deep voice.

"Oh no, the commanders gonna have our heads Gus." said the guard from behind her. "Quick, go and raise the alarm!"

She stepped to the side the avoid being bumped into by the taciturn Gus, who calmly strode for one of the bells located in the main stairwell. But then she stepped around him fairly easily, and headed down the stairs. Her sensitive ears heard Khadgar stomping somewhere behind her, but fortunately there was too much noise from the loud bell and soon after the many guards running about and yelling for them to hear him. She had to step to the side a few times so she didn't get walked into, but they made it out of the outpost fairly easily.

Lyra faded back into view behind a large rock a few hundred meters beyond the outpost's palisade. She knew Khadgar was right behind her because he made so much noise. "You're terrible at sneaking by the way Khadgar, what do you do, walk exclusively on your heels?"

"We can't all be tiny half-elves." he grumbled, fading back into view. "Alright, lets blink over to the other side of the river first, in case they have tracking hounds."

They did so, and then sat down to work a little ways into the forest, pulling out their map and inking in dates and locations based on their reports. It wasn't long before a clear pattern began to emerge, the disappearances had begun near a place called 'Bloodmoon Isle' in the east and spread westward in a radial fashion. What was also interesting was that only non-Humans were disappearing; Gnomes, Orcs, Trolls, Elves, Draenei – all lost, with a few bloody corpses found nearby their last known location. But not a single Human.

"Um. Khadgar. This is very bad." said Lyra.

"Hmm?" he said, inking in another date.

"Why are there no Humans missing? The Worgen killed the adult Dwarves in Ambermill, and the Dwarven child who was bitten didn't actually end up needing to be decursed."

"So the curse only affects Humans?" he said frowning. "That would be different from the last two times there has been an outbreak, but not impossible to manage from what I understand of the theory."

"You know what that means then? That there are likely _lots_ more Humans who are infected. There are probably even some in Dalaran by now."

"Then why haven't they attacked anyone?" he asked.

"Maybe they have, but are only targeting Humans to be sneaky about it?" she said. "In fact, they'd have to be sneaky in a place like Dalaran, since any Mage worth their salt could vaporise a single Worgen, and even if the Worgen retain their old abilities once their turned, magical duels are _very_ noisy. Someone would notice something was wrong."

"If you're right, then we need to get back to Dalaran right now." said Khadgar, standing.

"There's no point." said Lyra, shaking her head.

"Come now apprentice, I didn't take you for a defeatist, I mean, its not a good situation but-" he said.

"No. I mean, how are we going to know who is a Worgen? We had no idea what the people in Ambermill were before they transformed. No, there is no way we can contain this, its already too developed." said Lyra. "But..."

"You have an idea?" he asked.

"Well, I remember reading about the Duskwood curse a few years ago. It was dependent upon the artefact that caused the curse. All the people who were afflicted with lycanthropy reverted when the Scythe of Elune was shattered by an adventurer." she said.

"So you think that if the curse originated on Bloodmoon, then we might be able to find an artefact their, break it and reverse the curse?" he said.

"Yes, if it is like the Duskwood curse."

"What if it is like the Silverpine curse?" he said, referring to the second area where there had been a Worgen outbreak.

"I don't know, maybe that is like the Duskwood curse but no one has figured out the artefact anchoring it yet."

"That's a lot of assumptions Lyra." said Khadgar.

"Yes, it is. But how do you think we would be able to stop an army of clandestine Worgen from turning every Human in Northrend when we have no idea how to detect them? If we can't break the curse all at once, then the war against the Lich King is pretty much over."

"Alright then, well lets head to Bloodmoon Isle, and quickly." he said.

"You know." said Lyra."We probably should have just guessed that it started at the placed called 'Bloodmoon.'"

"I suppose we should have." he said. "Now hold still apprentice."

"What... why?" she said frowning.

"I'm going to turn you into a mouse, so I can carry you as a raven." he said as if this was a perfectly reasonable thing to suggest.

"Um... how about no?" said Lyra, raising a mana shield.

"We don't have time to walk there, time is of the essence. I'm sorry apprentice, I'm sure it won't be so bad, I even have some cheese in my pocket I can give you."

"Don't you da-" began Lyra, before Khadgar managed to somehow bypass her shield with a polymorph spell.

"Sorry apprentice." he said. Scooping down to pick her up.

" _Squeak_!" she said, outraged.

"You know. I think this may be an improvement, your _pawsitively_ adorable." said Khadgar, pulling some cheese from his pocket. The mouse was not amused. "Now don't try and throw off the polymorph apprentice, or I might drop you."


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was setting by the time they got Bloodmoon Isle, and Khadgar and Lyra set down as unobtrusively as possible next to an ancient Vrykul fishing shack. The roof of the structure and many sections of the wall were long since rotted away by the fierce elements of the northern seas, but it provided more cover than anything else on the bare rocky shore.

A great stone fort stood on the isle’s rise, which must have dated back to Prince Arthas’ fateful journey north. It was worn, although here and there there was clear evidence that it had recently become inhabited again. A pile of rubble with would have compromised it’s defensive perimeter cleared away here, some wooden palisades erected in gaps of fortification there.

The keep itself was a stout circular structure, with long curving walls and a single gate that was only accessible by a cut zigzag path leading up the steep and rocky hillside. There weren’t any obvious guards or sentries, but it would be hard to spot them from their low angle if they were trying to keep hidden.

Lyra shrugged off the polymorph as Khadgar’s Raven form shimmered and he resumed his proper appearance. Lyra suppressed a wince, polymorphs, especially ones that had lasted for four hours tended to leave their victim with a headache – so Lyra had a killer one.

Still, she did her best to ignore it, every moment that the curse remained Dalaran and the entire war against the Scourge was in danger. Double agents could cause untold damage, especially if they managed to infect one of the higher ranked mages in the city. It would be easy to change orders to send battalions on suicide missions, arrange unforeseeable ambushes, or poke a hole in the cities wards and let in the undead if you were, say, on the Council of Six.

Although that was probably an argument in favour of the traitor being an apprentice, if Runeweaver or Modera had been a mole, then they surely would have done things like that already. Or perhaps they already had? That was a worrying thought, but not one Lyra could really entertain at that moment.

Lyra withdrew her Arcane Surveyor and waved it at the keep, carefully sticking to the shadows. The artefact reported its findings a moment later.

“Wards,” she said. “Lots of them.”

“Any obvious weaknesses?” asked Khadgar, taking the stick and waving it himself.

“The matrix on the South Eastern wall looks like it might be able to be stretched a little,” she said. “But we’d have to be careful not to break it entirely, otherwise they’d notice immediately – assuming they have a mage here.”

“We need to assume that they do. Unless the traitor did the spellwork themselves, a curse of this magnitude would need someone skilled and powerful and familiar with advanced enchanting,” he said, focusing for a moment before shaking his head. “I see the weakness you’re talking about, but it’s far too obvious to have been missed. It’s a trap, and we have no way of knowing what is on a ward-layer behind it, or just who is in there at the moment – it could be the Lich King himself for all we know.”

“Oh,” said Lyra, feeling a bit foolish.

“You’ve gotten excellent at spotting weaknesses in wards though; it was a good idea,” he said, squeezing her shoulder before turning back and studying the fort for a few moments more. “Got any others?”

Lyra licked her lips. She did have one, but Khadgar wasn’t going to like it. “Well...”

“Well?”

“There is no way that they could keep track of all those turned, right? They have been abducting people from all over the place, and if they’re in Dalaran, which they must be, they’d be getting new mage ‘recruits’ all the time.”

“I… don’t follow.”

“How would they know I hadn’t been turned?” she said. “If we can’t detect them, how would they detect each other?”

“Apprentice, I don’t like where this is going.”

“If they’d turned you, I’m sure they would have reported it. But me? I’m just an apprentice,” she said, licking her lips before saying the bit she knew he wouldn’t like. “I could just walk up to the front gates, claim I have information stolen from the Council of Six – the battle-plans the Argent Crusade shared with us a few days ago for example.”

“And if they have those already then they’d know you were lying, and kill or turn you.”

“But they can’t have access to that information. I’ve been thinking, it must be one of the apprentices – if the Scourge had someone on the Six, or high enough up to get those orders, then we’d have already lost this war,” she said.

“And if this isn’t the Scourge?”

“Who else can it be?” she said. “No one else stands to benefit from this, not since the Nexus War is over. The Drakkari might have, but they’re dead and gone, and they wouldn’t have had time to set up a spy network in the Kirin Tor to get their hands on Argul’s research.”

“Apprentice, you theory relies on dozens of suppositions,” said Khadgar.

“How else are we going to get past the wards?” she asked. “Short of blasting them down, we can’t – and that isn’t an option, there could be anything in there, and if we failed they would know they’d been found out. But if I do get in, I’ll be able to see any traps that might have been laid, and erode the wards much more easily. I make a tiny hole, you find it, make it bigger, then you’re in. I can even scout for the curses’ anchoring artefact beforehand.”

Khadgar made a face he made when he didn’t like something. “Apprentice, this is incredibly risky. Once you’re behind those wards, if something happens to you, I won’t know. I won’t be able to help you.”

“Khadgar, I am not a child. I fought in the Nexus War. I defeated a Scourge Necromancer in single combat. One of these days you are going to have to wake up to the fact that I’m a competent mage, one who has been sneaking around for most of her life. It’s risky, but how else are we going to get in?”

“It isn’t you competence I doubt.”

“Then what is it?” huffed in iritation.

Khadgar rubbed his eyes. “You know you are dear to me Lyra, I don’t want to see you hurt. And though you are gifted, and have more combat experience than many graduates, you are still an Apprentice only in your second year of instruction. There are fully trained mages I would not want to send in there alone.”

“It’s the best strategy I can think of,” said Lyra, get annoyance disappearing as she looked at her hands. She still wasn’t good at dealing with overt affection, even if she did appreciate it.

Minutes past before he spoke again.

“Fine, I can’t think of another way in that is feasible in the short window of time we have. You’re suppositions seem good, although I do not like this Apprentice.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Promise.”

“You better,” he said, mussing up her hair and making her scowl.

* * *

Lyra schooled her features into a confident smirk that she hoped approximated what a freshly turned Worgen might wear as she approached the gates. She heard a faint shuffle in the gatehouse a few moments before a voice called down to her.

“Who goes there?”

“Apprentice Lyra of the Kirin Tor, well, former Apprentice I suppose,” she drawled, cocking her hip and putting her hand on it, tapping her foot impatiently. “I have obtained information about the Argent Crusade’s movements over the next few weeks in Icecrown.”

It had been easy enough for Lyra to rustle up a passable forgery of the orders, since she had seen the real ones often enough during the Council meetings, and no mage worth their salt went anywhere without pen and paper.

Khadgar was a little concerned about how she seemed so experienced with forgery, but when she’d told her she’d done it to fake doctors notes at school on the days she couldn’t face going to class he didn’t say anything more about it.

There was a long pause, and she heard a few whispers, but not well enough to make out their content, before the guard spoke again. “One moment, the Master will want to see this straight away.”

The gates creaked open, revealing several armed human men and women. Lyra strode in confidently, forcing herself not to flinch as the gates closed behind her with a worrying finality.

“You’re a Half-Elf,” blurted one of the guards, a tall woman with dark hair and a scar over one eye.

“Obviously,” said Lyra, rolling her eyes and inflecting her voice with total distain. “The gift was designed to affect Humans, I am Human enough. Not that I’d expect you to understand the fine details of arcane theory – what were you before you were turned? A lumberjack?”

The Lycanthrope scowled at her, but apparently accepting the excuse, before frowning as she examined Lyra’s garb, focusing in on the raven at her throat. “Hold on, that’s Medivh’s sigil.”

“My Kirin Tor master was Khadgar, hence the reason I had access to these orders,” Lyra said, waving the bundle of pages. “He inherited it from his master, and I inherited it from him. Now are you going to keep asking me pointless questions, or show me to someone important enough for these?”

The woman snarled at Lyra, but jerked her head before turning and heading towards the central keep. The others fell in around her, and Lyra tried very hard not to look nervous. If they saw through her ruse and decided to attack she would have very little time to react.

They passed dozens of Lycanthropes practising weapon drills in the yard. There must have been some kind of silencing field in effect, because she hadn’t heard their loud grunting on her approach. Lyra wasn’t entirely sure what the point of that was, since their Worgen forms were already weapons enough, but apparently she knew nothing about commanding an army. Still, even in human form they looked faster and stronger than they should have, and although no swordsperson other than a paladin or one of the Scourge’s champion ‘Death Knights’ was any threat to a mage in single combat, even the most powerful magi could get taken by surprise or overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Then they entered the keep, and began making their way up towards the roof. They passed dozens of rooms filled with weapons and food supplies, enough to feed an entire army, before they reached the door that led out onto the roof.

Lyra followed the Worgen woman out onto the for a few steps roof before stopping in her tracks as she saw who was standing with his back to the door. Lyra realised she had miscalculated, and badly.

Clad in fiery red robes and observing the sunset over the Grizzly Hills was Archmage Runeweaver, a man who sat on the Council of Six and who she had discounted as a possible suspect. What had she missed? There must have been some key piece she was missing.

Beside him was an ornate table on which rested an urn carved with half-moons, and which shone with arcane energy. It looked ancient, and had probably accumulated enough sympathetic association with the Goddess Elune to make it an ideal artefact.

Lyra thought for a moment she still might be able to play it off, but then hands like steel vices clamped down around Lyra’s arm as the Archmage turned to face her, fixing her with an expression that seemed almost sad.

Lyra summoned up the power she’d need to blink, before gasping as the Archmage effortlessly counter-spelled her, mucking up the flow of arcane in her body. It would take perhaps as long as twenty seconds for her body to realign the flow of energy within her, so she switched tactics and manifested fire around herself, something which although arcane in nature, was converted into the proper form of energy before she shaped it into a spell.

Those holding her yelped of pain as suddenly the small woman they had been holding ignited, and they released her on reflex. Runeweaver responded with some kind of transparent chain, but Lyra was already ducking and rolling.

Lyra knew she was out of her league. Runeweaver wasn’t as strong as Khadgar, but he was still an Archmage, and they didn’t give that title out as a consolation prize, and she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to escape. Still, she wasn’t going to let that stop her trying.

A Worgen snarled to her left and jumped through the flames, tackling her to the ground and pinning her with impossibly strong arms, one on her wrist, one around her throat. It howled in agony as it’s flesh seared from the flames around her, but apparently was prepared to get third degree burns to stop her. Panicking, Lyra redoubled the flow of magic, fighting through the black spots appearing in her vision.

The fire around her shifted from red to blue, and even the elevated threshold of pain of the Worgen was exceeded, and it flung itself away from her, bits of bone showing through the ruined mess that had been its claws. Despite the creature being literally a monster, Lyra felt the familiar sickness she had grown used to feeling during the war. If the curse was broken, and they regained their mind, they were going to need extensive healing to regain control of their limbs. Even with the miraculous healing power of the Light it might be weeks or months before they had full control back again.

Lyra rolled again blindly, avoiding another set of arcane manacles she had figured Runeweaver must be about to throw. She was sure if he wanted her dead she already would be, but apparently he wanted her alive. That was simultaneously comforting – since magic used to capture or subdue was always more difficult and finicky than simply raw destructive power, and terrifying, since it almost certainly meant he wanted to turn her.

The Worgen, seeing what she had done to their fellow backed away from her as Lyra tumbled to her feet, immediately jumping towards the door. They sheered away from her azure flames, and she was nearly at the door when something hooked her by her foot and she slammed face down onto the hard stone. Her nose crunched and broke, and pain and blood blossomed over her face as the magic chain wrapped up around her legs and torso, bringing with it the stifling sensation of being silenced.

Her protective aura of flames gutted out, and strong arms wrenched her off the ground and back to her feet, dragging her back over to Runeweaver. She still struggled, despite the haze of pain, but Half-Elves weren’t as strong as pure blooded Humans pound for pound, let alone Worgen, and Lyra was a very small woman. Normally she was more than pleased with the trade of being quicker, but without her magic she was as weak as a kitten compared to the Worgen.

“Lyra, Lyra, Lyra,” said Runeweaver, sighing and shaking his head. “Brave of you, but you were always too clever by half. I suppose you had some convoluted web of reasoning as to why it couldn’t be me? I’m sorry child, but sometimes even someone as clever as you simply lacks the relevant information.”

“How long?” said Lyra voice slightly distorted from her broken nose. “How long have you been a traitor?”

“Years,” he said neutrally. “Since just after the sacking itself.”

“Then why is the Kirin Tor still in this war?”

Suddenly it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her as a frigid power made itself known to her, and Lyra slowly turned her head, her mind turning to a mush of terror as she took in the dark grey plate, the piercing blue eyes, and the terrible glow of the runesword that had felled a kingdom. Arthas. The Lich King. The ruler of the Scourge.

“Because I permit it,” rumbled the thing that had once been a Prince of Lordaron. “Runeweaver, who is this?”

“Archmage Khadgar’s Apprentice my King,” he said, bowing. “He has been investigating the ‘disappearances’ in the Grizzly Hills. Apparently he, and his Apprentice, managed to follow the trail here. He must be close by.”

“Sloppy. It is too early for this plan to be revealed,” said the Lich King, making Runeweaver flinch. “Where then, girl, is Khadgar?”

Lyra raised her head as high as she could, rage slowly sapping away her terror. This was the man who had killed her parents, robbed her of a home where she would have been loved, completely changed the course of her life because of his lust for power. She would not give him the satisfaction.

“I will never betray him, nor the Kirin Tor,” she snarled, her voice wavering despite her best efforts. “Nor Azeroth. I will resist you to my dying breath. Do your worst, monster.”

She spat a glob of blood which landed on his chest-plate with a wet ‘thwack.’ She heard Runeweaver take a deep breath in shock as the glob of bloody spittle trickled down the skull-festooned metal.

Then the Lich King laughed. “Bold, there are few who would not be grovelling by this point. Runeweaver did, when he was where you are all those years ago, he begged to be spared. Told me he would do anything if only I’d let him and his family live. Wouldn’t you rather that? You need not be turned. Someone as driven, as skilled as you could go far in my Cult of the Damned.”

“Fuck you.”

The Lich King smiled widely, his smile still pearly white despite decades of undeath. “I approve. But your resistance is ultimately futile,” he said, raising the rune-blade. “I have a only to kill and reanimate you to get the information I need.”

Lyra took a deep breath and forced herself to look into his eyes, trying to pour every ounce of contempt and hatred she could into her glare. She would face death on her feet, with her eyes open – just like her parents had. Whatever followed, she would resist for as long as she could. Power coiled along the blade of Frostmourne, and Lyra shivered as the temperature plummeted.

“My King,” said Runeweaver in an almost urgent voice, a moment before the Lich King unleashed his spell. “If I may...”

“Go on,” said the monster, turning his head slightly, but keeping the magic primed.

“The Worgen Curse would just as easily turn her to your side, and would allow her to continue to operate as an agent in the Kirin Tor. An undead would be noticed, but the Kirin Tor have yet to develop a method to detect my new Worgen.”

The Lich King deliberated for a moment, before lowering his blade.

“Yes,” he smiled. “That is more elegant.”

“Tamara,” said Runeweaver neutrally, speaking to the woman who Lyra had goaded. “Would you please do the honours?”

The woman turned to Lyra and grinned ferally, before her form shifted and a moment later a nine foot wolf-like creature stood before her. It opened it’s mouth, revealing dozens of razor sharp teeth as long as her fingers.

Lyra trembled involuntarily as it stepped towards her, and yelped as the creature’s teeth closed around her neck. Khadgar wasn’t coming to save her this time, no one was. She was going to be turned into a monster and then used as a weapon against her home. She had miscalculated; she had been too assured of her own cleverness; she had failed, and now she was going to pay the price.

The fangs sank into her soft flesh, not deeply enough to kill her, just deeply enough for the curse to transfer over into her body and rob her of everything that made her herself.


	13. Chapter 13

The Worgen’s teeth cut into her skin, and a moment later the Curse began to take effect. Lyra screamed as it felt like her entire body was dipped in molten metal, and the Worgen who had been holding arms released their grips, letting her collapse to the ground, her muscles spasming as the Curse began to work it’s way through her body.

She tried to resist, to marshal her not inconsiderable magical abilities to defend herself, but the Curse had been crafted by a master, and for every line of attack she blocked three more brushed past her attempts to dispel or contain it, the sickly shadowy Curse penetrating deeper and deeper until the filled her entire body.

Blood spurted from her mouth as her cuspid teeth – already pronounced from her elven side – jutted forward another half centimetre, her nose snapped back into alignment with a sickening crunch, and she felt her hair burst from her head in a surge of growth, snow white, rather than her usual black locks falling past her eyes and tumbling down past her shoulders. 

Her hearing, already sensitive, kicked into overdrive, and suddenly she could smell everything around her: the salt of the northern sea, the sweet pine from the mainland, the sweat of the Worgen around her, the faint rot and weapon oil from the Lich King and his armour, the tang of her own fear.

Then the compulsion hit her like a wave, and the Wolf roared within her, washing away her fear and rage. There was only the Pack and the hunt, everything else was ephermeral.

“Hmm,” said Runeweaver, squatting down next to her. “The hair and eyes are a strange side effect; it must be to do with her Elven half, the magic is derived originally from Elune after all…”

“But is the Curse in control?” growled the Lich King, apparently uninterested in arcane scholarship and speculation.

“Oh yes, her body is saturated with it,” said Runeweaver, waving his hands over her. “Lyra, can you hear me?”

“Yes Master,” she said, sitting up and rubbing some of the still wet blood off her face and her entirely healed nose. “I understand you.”

“Good,” said Runeweaver. “Now, tell us, where is Khadgar?”

Something stirred within her for a moment, and she thought she felt her memories shift, but then it vanished. She must have been imagining it – probably some echo from before she’d been blessed.

“On his way back to Amberpine Lodge,” she replied. “I missed my check in a few minutes ago, he will have already returned there.”

She frowned. Wait, was that right? Hadn’t he been just out side… no. nNo. He had gone back to Amberpine. He must have.

“Curses,” hissed Runeweaver, rising and bowing his head to the Lich King. “Forgive me, my King.”

The Lich King shrugged. “It matters not, he will serve me in the end. They all will,” he said, before he turned to Lyra. “What does Khadgar know of this plot?”

“He believes that the traitor is an apprentice to the Council of Six, my King,” Lyra said, bowing her head to the man the Master respected so much, glad that whatever was disturbing her thoughts seemed to have vanished. “That they stole one of the signets and got into the Violet Citadel’s library with the research that way. We did not suspect Runeweaver, since an agent on the Council would have cost the Kirin Tor the war a year or more ago.”

That still did confuse her somewhat, although it wasn’t her concern now.

“They do not yet understand the plan,” laughed the undead King ominously, but did not elaborate on this supposed ‘master plan.’ “Very good, although you are useless as an agent in the Kirin Tor if Khadgar thinks you turned. Perhaps I should simply kill you, you would make good raw material for a skeletal mage.”

Lyra snarled. She was a predator, did he think she would simply let him kill her?

“Lyra!” hissed Runeweaver, and a moment later his will hit her like a wagon. She whimpered and bowed her head. “My King, Lyra is exceptionally intelligent, she would serve me well here as a lieutenant.”

“It is irritating the amount of time and energy needed to reanimate a Worgen…” said the Lich King slowly, before turning to Runeweaver. “Very well. You will keep me appraised of the situation.”

“Yes my King,” he bowed, and Lyra and the other Worgen followed suit; although out of respect to the Master, not the corpse-king. A deathly portal opened and the Lich King departed, leaving behind only his undead stench and a small eddy of snowflakes.

Runeweaver sighed and turned to her, taking her by the shoulders. “I’m so sorry Lyra, I never wanted this for you,” he said, his sad eyes searching in her own now orange orbs. “At least now that brilliant mind of yours wont go to waste, eh?” he closed his eyes and exhaled. “It’ll all be for the best… you’ll see.”

“Master, I feel fine,” she said, cocking her head to one side. “Why are you sad? I am so much more than I was.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a thin smile as he squeezed her shoulders. “I suppose you do think that.”

He turned back to the sunset, and Lyra waited patiently at his shoulder, simply happy to be near the Master. Everything was so simple now, she didn’t understand why she had been so scared – if only she’d known…

The moons rose, two three-quarter crescents that shone with energy and vitality. Her blood sang in her veins, and all around her she heard the howls of her fellows as they too experienced the intoxicating and dizzying power.

Then, a few moments after Moonsrise there was an immense mystical ripping, accompanied by a sound like a thousand nails being dragged over a chalkboard as the wards around the fort screamed in protest as the thaumic equivalent of a locomotive was rammed into them. 

Lyra frowned, she recognised the feel of that magic. But hadn’t Khadgar gone back to Amberpine Lodge… ?

The wards held for a moment before shattering like glass, and Lyra blinked in surprise. That was definitely Khadgar, and although she’d fought beside him and knew he as strong, she was surprised at the sheer ammount of energy he was channelling, it felt like he was going to rip apart the whole island.

“I thought you said he would be at Amberpine Lodge?” said Runeweaver, gripping the crenalations.

“I did, I remember...” said Lyra, looking down. The thing stirred in her mind once more and she balled her hands into fists. What was happening to her? Had there been a problem with the blessing? Was she flawed?

“Curses, he must have changed his mind,” said Runeweaver, ignoring her inner turmoil. “He is rather attached to you after all.”

Lyra walked over next to him peered down. Her eyesight seemed to have gotten another boost as well, because when the entire gatehouse was atomised and Khadgar came stomping through with a look of incandescent fury on his face Lyra could make out every detail and line of his contorted expression.

Then she saw something glint on his vambrace, and even with her better vision she had to strain to make the single hair – long white one. Ah, that was how he had known she was blessed, he’d taken it when he’d been irritating her before she left on her foolish mission.

Hair was funny, magically speaking. It was simultaneously dead and part of a person when still attached, which gave it a strange sort of arcane symbology, the upshot of which was that it remained ‘linked’ to someone for a long time after it had been removed. It was ideal for tracking spells, and was precisely the sort of thing that would pick up sympathetically on major magical changes like her blessing.

Several dozen Worgen rushed towards Khadgar from where they had been training, but he made a sign and a tsunami of force washed over them, sending them flying like bowling pins. Lyra snarled at the harm to her Pack, bearing her fangs in anger.

“Let me go down there Master,” she said. “I’ll rip him apart for you; bring you his head.”

Runeweaver looked at her and grimaced slightly. “No… no,” he said. “I need you here. Khadgar is sentimental. If you are next to me he will be unwilling to use overwhelming force.”

“Yes Master,” she said instantly. He was the leader of the Pack, he knew best.

“Yes, yes,” mumbled Runeweaver, a look of fear passing over his face as there were howls of lupine anguish and the tower wobbled slightly. “Get behind my shoulder – and stay close.”

Lyra did so, positioning herself next to the urn a moment before the door to the keep blew outwards in a roar of fire. The Worgen, including the one who had turned her, lunged for Khadgar, but before they even finished their initial springs bubbles of arcane magic sprang up around them and they hit the edges with a crunch. Their momentum didn’t stop however, and instead was redirected into a different angle, causing them to spin wildly in what must have been the completely friction-less interiors, accelerating as they squirmed.

“Runeweaver,” spat Khadgar, his voice roiling with surprise, betrayal, and fury. Then he saw Lyra, and his eyes widened and his cheeks paled. “Lyra… oh no, what has he done to you?” he whispered, and the look of utter anguish on his face.

“She’s gone,” said Lyra in a singsong voice, flashing him her pointier teeth and spreading her arms. “That little doormat you knew anyway. This is who I was always meant to be. Do you want to see?”

Her form rippled and shifted, her robes tearing as her limbs elongated. Fur white as snow sprang from her arms and her short nails lengthened into talons. Bones cracked in her face as her snout extended into a muzzle, and her ears changed their position, moving up her head and lengthening. The transformation took only a moment, and then she straightened, not quite the eight feet of Tamara, but still a respectable seven and a half.

“I am going to unmake you Anserim,” said Khadgar very slowly, not looking at her and instead glaring at Runeweaver, his voice deadly calm, the air sparking around him as his aura manifested in unconscious rage. “Once we are done here and you are nothing but pile of ash I will return to Dalaran. Then I will go to the library and remove every last trace of you having ever existed; book by book. There will be nothing left but a blank space where your name once was. You will be stricken from the record of the Council, from the Kirin Tor. You will be forgotten, erased; physically, mentally, and historically.”

Lyra longed to lunge towards her old teacher who dared threaten the leader of the Pack. But the Master had told her to stay put, so she snarled at Khadgar instead. His eyes flicked to her for a moment, before firmly fixing themselves once-more on Runeweaver.

“Oh yes,” drawled Runeweaver, attempting to appear as cool and collected as he launched a jet of fire towards Khadgar, but failing as his voice wavered. Lyra saw his arm tremble and smelt the sharpness of his fear. “Khadgar’s beloved little half-breed pet, meek little Lyra, always so quiet and dutiful at meetings. Do you remember a few months ago? I told you that getting so attached to an Apprentice was a weakness you would come to regret; that the bonds of love are what make us vulnerable.”

“Why did you do it?” said Khadgar, waving his hand and somehow transmuting the fire into a puff of pink smoke. “The Scourge took your wife.”

“Yes, they did,” he said, anger bubbling away in his voice as he launched another jet of fire. “But what you never knew is that she’s still alive, and so long as I play my part, she will remain that way,” said Runeweaver, taking a deep breath and shaking himself before continuing in a quieter voice. “As I said… vulnerable.”

Khadgar blinked in surprise, and very nearly missed redirecting the fire away from himself.

“Ansirem, you fool,” he said as a mana shield sprung into existence at the last moment, the anger leeching away from his voice until all that was left was sorrow. “She’s dead, or as good as – the Lich King will never let you live.”

“He rewards those loyal to him,” said Runeweaver. “I will be killed eventually, yes, but then we will have eternity together. He will leave us our minds, he promised me.”

“Even if he keeps his word, you will spend eternity as slaves,” said Khadgar, launching a neatly targeted lance of arcane energy at his chest.

“And what would you do? Even now you’re risking the whole world to not hit your turned Apprentice,” grunted Runeweaver as he shielded, straining against the power. “We’re the same, you and I. She’s gone Khadgar, there is nothing but the Wolf now.”

Khadgar broke off the magic with a strangled cry. “She’s not! She can’t be.”

Runeweaver didn’t respond, and instead took the opportunity to launch an attack, the magic involved in which Lyra didn’t really understand. She knew that it involved Chronomancy, possibly the most advanced of all the arcane disciplines, but beyond that she had no idea of it’s structure or aim.

Apparently Khadgar knew what it was though, because suddenly the two Archmages were locked in a silent and visually noiseless magical duel. Sweat beginning to run down both their faces almost immediately, and their arms trembled.

“Lyra!” hissed Runeweaver urgently. “Hit him now, he can’t block both my spell and yours.”

“Yes Master,” she said with a sharp toothed grin, conjuring a ball of arcane moonlight between her talons and raising her clawed hand towards Khadgar.

Time seemed to slow as Khadgar’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t quite believe that Lyra would ever attack him, even though he knew she had been blessed. A tear fell from his eye and dropped from his cheek, shimmering in the moonlight’s silver glow as it splashed against the dirty stone battlements.

The thing stirred inside Lyra again, and suddenly she found her arm turning, her aim adjusting towards Runeweaver’s exposed back. Lyra struggled to regain control of herself; she couldn’t turn on the Pack leader, she couldn’t, she couldn’t.

Her arm wavered back towards Khadgar, before the thing within her rose like a hurricane, smashing aside her will and wrapping her in bands of mental iron. Lyra howled inside her own head as she was pushed further and further back until she was only the tiniest presence, a sliver of silver moonlight in a sea of blistering and terrible azure starfire.

“I will never be your slave!” roared a voice that wasn’t her own as the thing wrenched her hand back towards the Master and unleashed the blast of arcane magic. 

Runeweaver had only enough time to turn his head fractionally before the blast scythed through his robes and keep on going, through his chest and out the other side. He crumpled immediately, the light fading from his eyes as blood poured out of the six inch wide hole the thing had bored through his chest and onto the flagstones.

“Lyra,” said Khadgar, joy blossoming on his face. “It’s you-”

“Khadgar, the Urn,” snarled the thing inside her even as Lyra tore at the mental bonds in fury and rage. She would rip apart this man who had somehow bewitched her into attacking her own Master. She destroy him utterly, just as soon as she got free. “It’s the Anchor for the mind control,” continued her possessor. “I can’t… I can’t hold the Wolf for long.”

Khadgar nodded, rushing forward to take up the Master’s vessel and raising it above his head. Lyra tried to wrestle back control, silver moonlight ripping apart the suddenly brittle starfire.

But was too slow, and before she could fully regain control Khadgar brought the Urn down onto the ground in a great crash, shattering the ancient vessel into a million pieces.

The arcane backlash knocked her from her feet, and she howled in pain and terror as the certainty and security of the Pack vanished and what felt like lightning tore through her veins. Her form rippled and shifted, returning her to the husk of the Half-Elf she had been, the pain fading until there was only incandescent fury.

“I’ll kill you for that,” she snarled, clawing her way towards Khadgar.

Khadgar, who had been stooping down to help her up jerked backwards. “Lyra?” he said uncertainly, looking down at the shards of the urn. “What’s going on, the Curse should be broken...”

“You took the Pack from me,” she spat. “I’ll rip out your heart-”

The thing inside her pushed her back from the forefront of her mind again. Wrapping her once more in it’s horrifically strong bonds of willpower. Lyra surged against them, but without the security of the Pack she was only a shadow of herself. But she would never give up, she would reclaim her body and destroy this pathetic human who had destroyed her family. The thing that currently held her mind would get tired, it would weaken, and then she would be there to reclaim what was hers.

“Khadgar, the lycanthropy itself must be self-sustaining,” said the thing, using the words of the woman she had been before being blessed; when she had been weak and unsure, before she had found the surety of her brothers and sisters. “There isn’t a compulsion to obey and follow the Pack anymore, and it isn’t as strong without it, but the Wolf is still there. I can… feel it in my mind, it wants to kill you for destroying the Urn.”

“We need to get back to Dalaran, there are probably who knows how many Worgen who had just had their connection to this ‘Pack,’ as you put it, broken,” said the man, gripping her shoulder. “Can you teleport yourself, or do you want me to take you with me?”

Lyra snarled at him for daring to touch her. Khadgar jerked back once more. She had enough time in her body for a brief smirk of satisfaction before the thing wrestled her back down.

“Best… best keep your distance Khadgar,” it said. “The Wolf really doesn’t like you for smashing that Urn. I can teleport myself, don’t worry.”

Khadgar looked concerned, but nodded, arcane power flaring around him for a moment before he vanished. The thing took a few looks back towards the Worgen that had once been part of the Pack, before shaking her head and sighing.

Then Lyra felt the thing within her using magic, and a few seconds later reality dissolved as she hurtled off through subspace.


	14. (Content Warning)

**Trigger Warning/Content Warning: This chapter has some pretty heavy stuff, specifically discussions of suicide and characters intending to commit suicide.**

If you are worried that it might be too confronting for you because your working through or have experienced some trauma or depression, please don’t read it.

I’m serious, I know how dark it can be, and how words can hurt a reader or listener even if the author doesn’t intend them to. I don’t want to do that to you.

There is a three sentence summary of the events of this chapter at the start of the next one so that the broad strokes of what happened are clear.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

The only source of illumination in the room was the soft orange glow her cursed eyes. Lyra’s curtains were drawn, blocking out the blazing moonlight which the Wolf seemed to love so much. Still she could feel it out there, lurking just beyond the thin pane of glass. The energy just waiting for her to reach out and take it...

She shivered and brought her knees up to her chin, pushing back the Wolf from her mind with an effort of will.

There was a knock on her door, and she shied away from the light as it spilled in from the living room, Khadgar’s silhouette illuminated by the soft yellow lamps.

“Apprentice,” he said. He was holding some kind of bag which smelt of foul smelling herbs, and judging by the moisture she could smell in his hair had been out in the snow. “Lyra, can we talk?”

She gave a sharp nod, and clamped down on the Wolf as Khadgar entered the room and sat down on the wooden chair at her desk, where she had wiled away many happier days and nights reading and writing.

He set the foul smelling package down on her desk next to her current journal and tapping his fingers on the desk for a few long moments as he took in her tear stained cheeks, her sweat caked clothes, and the red marks her fingernails had left on her upper arms where she had clawed herself in her sleep when she hadn’t been able to stay awake any longer. It was always more difficult when she slept, and she was afraid she might never wake up if she closed her eyes.

“I’ve been speaking with the healers,” he said softly. “Three more of the Worgen who refused the potion broke today. The last three, other than you. They weren’t able to save their minds.”

Lyra shivered, but said nothing, he’d come into her room each night with a similar story, although the numbers had dropped off as they approached a week since the Curse had been broken – at least, the mention compulsion of the Pack. He’d never bought the potion with him before though.

“I hoped… I hoped you could keep it at bay,” he said. “But Lyra, you can’t live like this. And I can’t lose you. You’re strong willed, unbelievably so, you alone broke through the Curse at it’s height, you saved my life, but even you can’t hold it back forever.”

“And so what?” she snapped. “You want to alchemically lobotomise me?”

“ _No!”_ said Khadgar. “I never wanted this Lyra. And it’s not a lobotomy, it’s a sedative; it will keep the Wolf chained. But for it to work you must take it while you have control.”

“It will make me unable to work magic for as long as it’s in my blood,” she spat. “No. Never.”

“Lyra-”

“I am _nothing_ without my magic.”

“That isn’t true-”

“Really? Would you have ever met me if I didn’t have the gift? Would you be my friend? No, of course you wouldn’t, I’d be just another waitress who you smiled at as I bought you cake and then forgot about.”

“That isn’t fair, I might not have had the opportunity to cross paths with you, but that wouldn’t make you any less of a wonderful person.”

“I would rather _die_ than lose my magic, do you understand?” she said. “It is who I am, and has been for as long as I can remember. If you make me drink that potion, I will cease to be your Apprentice, cease to have a future, I will hang myself before next sunrise.”

Khadgar made a keening sound as he looked away, putting a fist in his mouth.

“Lyra, those without magic are not lesser people than Mages,” he said once he had recovered enough to speak. “You are brilliant, magic or no, you would still have so much to give to society, to the world. You could be anything, a scholar, an author, a mathematician, or yes, a waitress-”

“I am a Mage!” she shouted, hurling a book from her bedside table at him telekinetically, a heavy tome that was the primer for the study of portal magics.

He caught it before it hit him and placed it carefully on the desk.

“Lyra, you are like a daughter to me. Losing your ability to work magic wouldn’t change that, you could still live here, I would still help you however I could,” he said. “Please Lyra, you can’t stay like this, you’re dying – when was the last time you slept, you ate?”

“I _will_ beat this,” she said.

“It won’t get any easier Lyra!” he said, shouting himself. “Your strength slips away moment by moment, while it’s power doesn’t diminish. No one in the history of Azeroth has ever beaten Lycanthropy. Not even the ancient D ruids could manage to master it , and the transformation that let it into the world was forbade by Malfurion for a reason. And when you finally break, there will be no going back! _Please_.”

Lyra didn’t reply, instead just closed her eyes and grit her teeth.

“How about I make some coffee? The healers say that masks the taste,” he said in a softer voice. “You’ve said yourself I’m getting better, and it only ever tastes a _little_ burnt.”

Lyra opened her eyes and locked them with his. Minutes passed, before she finally gave a small nod. She knew what she had to do, although it was going to break his heart.

Khadgar’s lip trembled as he stood, leaving the room. A few moments later she heard him in the kitchen, and stood herself, throwing on some of her old clothes and purple threadbare cloak.

Her hands rested on the Raven pin for a moment where it lay on her bedside table, before she decided against it and moved to her desk, opening her journal to a fresh page and picking up her favourite pen.

_I’m sorry Khadgar. I cannot drink the potion, I cannot lose my magic._

_But I will not let it take me, I will never be a monster._

_Lyra._

Then she turned and moved to the window, unlatching the bolt gently and easing it open. Cold air blew into her face as she stepped out onto the windowsill, and the Wolf howled in delight as moonlight washed over her.

Lyra carefully closed the window behind her and took a deep breath before stepping off the edge of the citadel.

She hurtled down through the snow-filled air, activating a slow-fall spell as she went and changing her trajectory with a burst of force, angling herself southward and away from the city.

The crystalline trees glittered below her in the moonlight, but her eyes were fixed on the sparkling city that had been her home her entire life as it grew smaller and smaller behind her as she drifted through the frigid night air, out towards the mountains that divided the Crystalsong forest from the Dragonblight.

She felt a stab of anguish as she realised it might be the last time she ever saw it, but marshalled her resolve before the Wolf could capitalise on her pain. She _would_ beat this. Somehow.

* * *

Snow and wind and sun and terrible moonlight lashed at Lyra as she trudged through the snow. On and on and on.

She had alighted in the foothills of the boundary mountains and had been on foot ever since, powerful warming charms the only thing keeping her alive as she began making her way slowly south, her Cursed strength the only thing keeping her from collapsing into thigh-deep snow or falling from the frigid cliffs she climbed with the help of slow-fall spells. Every step was accompanied by the constant pressure from the Wolf in her mind, which as Khadgar had said grew more powerful each and every day.

Still, she held on like she always had, eating conjured food as she walked, and stopping only to sleep when she was too tired to go any further, resting only a few fitful hours before rising and continuing.

She crossed glaciers and dragon graveyards, passed Magnataur camps and haunted forests. Wild creatures tried to accost her, but she was a Mage, and they fled from the storms of furious fire she conjured.

Three and a half weeks after she set out she arrived at her destination, the small Kaldorei camp of Stars Rest, where she had visited years beforehand with Khadgar. It must have been moved closer at some point, because she had barely managed to find it, and now just beyond it lay the ruins of a giant complex that had once been a temple of Elune in ancient times, and was the place where the Nexus War had begun at her own hand when she’d destroyed the ley-line realignment crystal.

The sentinels stiffened as they saw her, hands on their weapons.

“Who goes there?” they shouted in common, their eyes flicking over the frozen cloak and her hunched figure. Given how she probably looked they could well have thought she was undead.

“Lyra of the Kirin Tor,” she said, drawing back her hood. “Please, I need a Druid, I need help.”

The Kaldorei stiffened as they saw her eyes, and there were a few barely audible whispers of Darnassian, which she wasn’t particularly well versed in but managed to catch something that sounded like “Moon-touched.”

They ushered her into the camp, giving her a blanket, some berry wine and bread that was a welcome change from her own card-boardy fair before one of them rushed off into the crumbling structures. Lyra ate all they offered her, before propping herself up against a piece of ruined masonry and watching the ruins, willing herself to stay awake, studying the architecture for something to do.

She had been too scared for her life the last time she had been there to appreciate the beauty of the ruins. Even after millennia of exposure to the elements they were still stunning, with elegant pillars, and faded but still elegant bass-reliefs of the moon or stories she had never heard of. Even the Wolf seemed calmed by the serene aura of the place.

“You are the Moon-touched?” came a voice from her left, and she realised she had been dozing. She jerked herself awake, cursing her foolishness. She was too weak now to fight the Wolf in her dreams, and that small nap could easily have been the end of her.

A tall Kaldorei man with verdant green hair and deep purple skin. He was dressed in some kind of long leather robe and a cloak woven with elaborate multicoloured beads and feathers, and in his hand he held a branch from which flowers and leaves bloomed as if still alive.

“Yes, I’m Lyra,” she said,rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Please, I need help, the-”

“Wolf, yes,” he nodded. “I can feel it in you, tearing you apart. I am Archdruid Nightweaver, I had heard of the outbreak of Worgen, although I expected you all to be sedated or lost by this point.”

“Can you help me?”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I do not believe so,” he said slowly, and Lyra’s heart fell.

It had all been for nothing. She didn’t have it in her to make it back to Dalaran, it was too far even on Gryphon-back, and she was too tired to a teleport. She was going to die here, not even near the one person in the universe who actually cared about her. All that was left was to end herself painlessly before the monster took hold.

She raised her hand, her arm trembling as she called a blade of arcane power to herself. It would be quick, painless – at least she hoped. She felt sorry to inflict her death on the Kaldorei, but she wasn’t sure she had the strength left to find a quiet place to die _and_ hold back the Wolf long enough to do so.

Lyra pressed the humming blade of energy to her throat and steeled herself, preparing to draw it across her bare flesh.

“Wait-” said the Druid, an urgent note in his voice. “If you are truly consigned the death, then… then I see no harm in you attempting the rite. Every single Druid has succumbed to the Wolf’s fury and relentless tenacity, but I will respect your decision to die fighting, and as yourself; and I cannot bear to see such a young woman take her own life. Come, _please_.”

A very faint hope blossomed in her chest as she let her magic subside, her hand dropping as he helped her up and guided her by the shoulder into the temple ruins proper.

They shuffled along in silence for several minutes until they arrived at the same building that the Dragon had been using as the site of her spell to redirect the ley-line, the giant partly ruined dome still offering some protection from the elements.

Lyra could feel the torrent of power running just below the surface, and the charge in the air that mingled with the temple’s serenity to create something strange. Like the eye of a storm it bubbled with a contradictory energy – both calm and constantly in motion.

The last time she had been at the temple she had been too inexperienced to feel it, but now it registered clearly to both her mystic senses, and the Wolf, which for the first time in it’s existence stopped devoting absolutely everything it had to overpower her and instead stopped to take in the place’s stillness.

“This place is holy,” said Lyra, voice her feelings before she realised it.

“Indeed,” said Nightweaver, staring up at the falling masonry. “I remember when it was whole – I was an acolyte of Elune then… before the Shan’do put me on my new path. We are lucky that there is such a place of power nearby, although I do not believe any Druid has ever used it for the rite of transformation.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Once we begin,” he said. “There is no going back. Before you start I would know you better, Lyra of the Kirin Tor; no one should fade into the night forgotten, let alone a young woman of such resolve.”

“What… what do you want to know?”

“Whatever you would tell me,” he said, seating himself in a lotus position on the bare flagstones and watching her attentively.

Lyra seated herself awkwardly opposite him and started speaking. She told him of her parents, what little she remembered of them, and the sacking of Dalaran. The ghouls, the smoke, the terror in the air. Of how her mother had bought her and her father enough time to escape their home, how he had died prying the bony fingers of a skeleton off her throat and telling her to run, how she had later found her mother again…

She told him about the aftermath, how she had been placed in a cold orphanage full of people who shunned her either through bullying or apathy, or were too damaged themselves to offer her the comfort a grieving three year old needed. Of how she had discovered her gift with the Arcane and devoted herself to its study, shutting out those who had pushed her away, telling herself she didn’t need anyone.

She told him the triumph she had felt by making Apprentice to the great Khadgar, how she had slowly come to trust him like no one since her parents. She told him of her battles, of her fears, of her doubts, of her great sorrow at being forced into situations where she took lives – even the Necromancer, and finally how she had come to be infected.

“You threw the Pack elements of the Curse off?” he asked. “While it was fully bound to it’s anchor?”

“Y-yes,” she said. “Runeweaver wanted me to kill Khadgar, I wouldn’t allow that. But it was only for a moment.”

The Kaldorei stared down, his eyes unfocused. He seemed to be about to say something for a few moments, before he apparently decided better and shook his head.

“I am honoured to have heard your story. If you fall here I will carry your body back to this Khadgar you spoke of and tell him that you died bravely as yourself. Now, one last time, are you sure you wish to do this? There is no shame in taking the potion – I could even prepare it for you, it would take no more than a half hour.”

“I will not give up my magic, it is who I am,” said Lyra. “But… if I do die, and you take my body back, please ask him to have it burnt, I don’t want to ever be reanimated. And tell Khadgar I’m sorry and that… that I love him.”

She sniffed.

"I don’t think I ever told him.”

“I will carry your words,” he said, withdrawing a satchel from under his cloak and setting out a bowl, and some herbs. “Now, there are things you must know if you are to have even the slightest chance. In order to master an Aspect of Nature, to take it into yourself and make it your own, to safely transform, you must first master yourself. Usually this is the single most dangerous part of the rite, and acolytes usually train for up to a decade before they attempt to bond with the Spirit of Ursoc. We do not have that time, so you will have to be ready now.

“As I said, that is usually the most dangerous part, but you are not mastering the Bear or the Cat or the Eagle, you are attempting to do something no one has ever done before, to master the Wolf. The Bear is powerful and stubborn and protective, but does not pursue it’s foes once they are scared from it’s den, and failing the rite is not certain death. The Cat stalks it’s prey, but can be dissuaded if you make yourself a difficult or fast enough target. The Eagle is quick and cunning strikes only when assured of victory, and will not dive something it does not think it can best, and one can find shelter from it. There are tried and proven ways of confronting and bonding with these spirits that Druids use, as well as ways to escape them if they fail. This is why almost all those who undertake the rites are successful when properly prepared.

“The Wolf is not like these other aspects of nature. The the Spirit of Goldrrin is tenacious, unyielding, ferocious, and will keep coming at you forever. If there are tricks to mastering it, we do not know them. Every single Druid who has faced the Wolf has been found wanting and consumed. Perhaps it is impossible, perhaps only one in a million has the required qualities, perhaps none of them have ever sufficiently impressed their shard of Goldrinn. I do not know, but you are already within it’s thrall, and if you wish to survive it then you must find a way where no one else has.”

He finished setting out the aspects of the ritual, and began crushing the herbs into the bowl, mixing in a little berry wine when he was finished. Lyra recognised several plants that were hallucinogenic, although she doubted that this was all some trick to get her high.

“Drink this,” he said, handing it to her. “I will stand watch for you, and end the Wolf should it emerge victorious. I wish you luck, Lyra of the Kirin Tor. And once again, it was an honour to have met such a brave young woman.”

Lyra nodded and stared into the liquid for a few moments, before putting it to her lips and drinking deeply. The liquid burnt a little as it went down, but Lyra was too tired to care. She just wanted it to be over, and one way or another it would be.

Either she would wake up, or the Wolf would.

* * *

**A.N.** Thanks to the readers for the nice reviews. Specifically, in response to my most prolific reviewer ‘rjstx1,’ I’m glad you’re still liking the story, and I did consider having Lyra stuck working for the Lich King, but I was worried if I went down that path then I would write myself into a corner where I would need a _dues ex machina_ to save the Kirin Tor since they are so weakened and widespread Lycanthropy would probably just wipe them out. I also want to get stuck into the Ulduar arc, which that would interfere with.

 

Next chapter is very, very long, and although it is finished and mostly edited, I want to sit on it for a while longer before I put it out to make sure I’ve got it right.


	15. Chapter 15

**Previous Chapter Summary**

Since the last chapter had some stuff people might not want to read if they’re suffering from depression or have trauma, here is a summary of the events of the last chapter:

Lyra was struggling to stop being consumed by the Curse, but refused to take a potion that could stop it because it would also mean giving up her magic. She left Dalaran and headed south to Star’s Rest in the Dragonblight, where she knew there was a Kaldorei outpost near the ruins of an ancient temple of Elune – the place she had confronted the Blue Dragon at the start of the Nexus War.

There she found the help of an Archdruid who agreed reluctantly to help her undergo the rite that Druids attempt when learning shapeshifting forms to master that aspect of nature, even though he said clearly that no one had ever successfully completed it for the Wolf form.

(Also, this is a really long chapter at over seven thousand words. Sorry, I didn’t want to cut it in two, especially since the last chapter was supposed to be the introduction to it.)

* * *

 

**Chapter 15**

Lyra lowered the bowl of wine and hallucinogenic herbs, frowning as nothing seemed to happen.

She was about to complain when she noticed that Archdruid Nightweaver had frozen, his eyelids stopped halfway through blinking.

“What the… ?” she said, standing up and looking around.

She hadn’t felt any shift in the Arcane powerful enough to be Chronomancy, or any sleep spell she recognised, but she had lived long enough that it wasn’t normal for the world to spontaneously decide to stop working.

Outside the remains of the temple she could see snowflakes suspended mid-fall, and a cloud of misty breath hung beneath Nightweaver’s nose.

Then she started as she saw herself sitting in the place she had just stood up from, the empty bowl held to her lips and her orange eyes unfocused. She looked like hell. Her curse-white hair was a matted mess, the normally caramel skin on her face was an angry burnt red, and her lips were cracked and chapped from days walking through the endless snowfields.

Oh right, she thought, the Hallucinogens, this was probably all internal. So was that how she imagined she looked, or… ?

Lyra forced herself to focus, she could wonder about the mechanics of the druidic trances later; if she survived. She grabbed one of her locks and pulled it down to her eye level, heartened to see the black she had had before being cursed, although she was less pleased when ran her tongue over the cracked flesh of her lips that it seemed to have transferred over. This was her, the true her she supposed, although that would also suggest that the Wolf was about somewhere.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind there was the sound of footfalls, and a moment later a doppelganger of herself, white hair and orange eyes gleaming, entered the ruined dome from the snow outside. The Wolf.

Lyra noted with slight irritation that her clone had immaculate hair pulled back in a complex braid, and that her lips and face were fine. The Wolf was also wearing the old robes Khadgar had given her and had been ruined when she’d transformed into a Worgen, although the silver clasp at its collarbone was appropriately lupine rather than a Raven shaped. A surge of anger shot through her, those robes had been dear to her – a symbol of her apprenticeship, her belonging. The monster that had taken all that from her didn’t deserve them.

Then all angry and envious thoughts disappeared as a massive white wolf entered behind her, and instead she took a step back in fright. The creature was easily thirty five feet long, and more than fifteen feet at it’s shoulder. Like the Wolf possessing her the creature had snow-white fur and orange eyes.

The other-Lyra smirked at her and flashed her a wide smile.

“Hello prey,” she said, licking her lips. “I will devour you.”

“Manners,” growled the giant, making the simulacrum flinch back.

“You’re… you’re Goldrinn,” said Lyra, recognising the Wolf Ancient from a book she had read in the first year of her apprenticeship, and which Nightweaver had mentioned. “But you’re dead.”

“I am a Wild-god, an aspect of this world,” he chuckled, a deep rumbling sound coming from within his massive chest. “I fell against the Legion, but I will die only when the world itself is unmade, and not before. I will return to the living world, one day, when I am needed.”

“But why are you here?”

“Because you are the first in ages to try and master my power. I was interested to see who you were,” he said. “Since Malfurion forbid his students from tapping into my power I have met few people. I do not blame the Shan’do, but it has been lonely.”

“And she is…?”

“What you call your ‘Wolf,’ yes,” he said, raising his hackles slightly towards her. “A twisted fragment of my own power; but still one of my children, in a way.”

“So do we fight or something?” said Lyra, calling fire to her hand and glaring at the Lycanthrope.

“Eventually,” laughed Goldrinn. “But that comes later. This first part of the trial is about besting yourself, facing your darkest fears and overcoming them. Without that, you cannot master my power. Of course, even if you best yourself, that is no guarantee you will be able to wield the Spirit of Tenacity, you may not have the required qualities – and for that I am sorry.”

“‘Best myself?’”

“Indeed,” he said, and a moment later the scene shifted. Gone was the temple and the snow, instead she was in an enclosed courtyard she recognised from her past. On one side was a large two story building with purple shingles where she had lived from age three until she turned sixteen.

The Orphanage.

There were some of children in the yard, and she recognised all of them, including herself – smaller, but with the same tan skin and raven hair. She was sitting in one of the corners under a reedy looking apple tree, a book open on her lap and a slightly wilted bouquet of daisies and poppies sitting in the central crease.

Lyra gulped. She knew what day this was.

“Why did you bring me here?” she croaked, turning towards Goldrinn.

“I did not, this is one of the formative events of your life, your character,” said the Ancient, who should have taken up the entire courtyard, but somehow didn’t. “There is something here your unconscious thinks you must overcome, something that has chained you for years – I take it you recognise this memory?”

“February 14th, nine years ago; the Day of Roses,” she said. “The day I told Turner Smithen I liked him, and he, and the others all laughed at me. I… I think was when I finally stopped opening myself up to other people.”

“Then you know already what you must confront, what injury you must master.”

Suddenly she was in her younger body, blinking as the scene started up around her. The sun blazed overhead and the smells of Hillsbrad, so different from Northrend, reached her nostrils. Laughter echoed around her from where the rest of the children were playing a game with the ratty ball that was one of the few things they were given to play with.

Goldrinn and her leering Lupine reflection were standing where they had been in the opposite corner, but no one seemed to notice their presence. She supposed that made sense, they hadn’t been there when she’d made the memory.

Lyra looked down at the book, which seemed almost comically large on her small knees. It a romance which told of a handsome prince who rescued a milk-maid from a forest stronghold and fell in love with her. Lyra must have read it a hundred times before that day, and until then it was her favourite book on the orphanage’s very small book-shelf.

Afterwards, she had never touched it again. It, or any romance novel.

She knew what the rite required her to do, she had to live through one of the most painful and humiliating memories of her past and somehow ‘conquer’ it. That meant she had to pick up the bouquet, interrupt the game like she had done years ago, and profess her affections loudly.

“I don’t see the point of this,” muttered Lyra, more to herself than Goldrinn as she picked up the bouquet and glared at it. Then she took a deep breath and stood, setting the book down to her and advancing across the yard on her shorter than usual legs.

“Turner?” she said as he was just about to kick the ball at the crudely marked goal, making him look up just as his worn boot connected with boot, flubbing the strike and sending it sailing over the courtyard wall. Just like it had last time.

“Light dammit!” swore the older boy, who was almost thirteen at this point, as the others laughed at him. “What do you want Lyra?”

“These are for you,” she said in the same wavering voice she had possessed as an eleven year old as she held out the flowers, the simple, honest words of her younger self falling from her mouth. “I like you very much Turner.”

Turner’s head jerked back in shock, and the tone of the other’s laughter shifted from amusement at a bad kick to mockery of Lyra and her sweet, naive words.

“You’re giving me flowers?” he said disbelievingly. “They’re not even Roses.”

The humiliation and hurt of the real memory came surging back, the emotions feeling just as agonising as they had back then, and she forgot she was inside her own memory. Tears began to stream from her eyes, and she slowly lowered the bouquet. How could anyone be so mean? She was just being nice, trying to be liked like the people in the books were.

“Knife-ears likes Turner, Knife-ears likes Turner!” chanted the other children, some of whom were Elven themselves, but for whatever reason didn’t have that label applied to them too.

“How could anyone love you?” he said. “You’re a Half-Elf.”

“Knife-ears likes Turner, Knife-ears likes Turner!”

Lyra hunched in on herself, feeling her heart break. This was how it would always be, she realised, people would always dislike her for something she couldn’t change, for who she was. She would never be loved, she would never be accepted, she was damaged, ruined by her mixed blood. A freak, unlovable, unwanted.

“Knife-ears likes Turner, Knife-ears likes Turner!”

They were right, no one could love her, even Khadgar was probably just pretending-

‘Khadgar… wait,’ she thought, frowning down at the flowers. There was something wrong. She didn’t know a Khadgar, did she?

Then it hit her. She wasn’t eleven, she was twenty. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d forgotten, the memory had been too real, too vivid.

She knew now, at twenty, that what Turner had said wasn’t true, because Khadgar loved her like his daughter, and Moodle was her friend – he liked her more than anyone else in Dalaran even.

They didn’t care that she had funny looking ears that were too long and too short at the same time, that there were almost no other people like her.

Even a single instance of contrary data was enough to disprove a law, and she had two points. Therefore, she was lovable.

What she had known academically became visceral, and just like that the certainty she had attached to Turner’s words broke within her and shattered like glass.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered, and the scene froze, the edges of everything beginning to spiral away into glittering whorls of dust that swirled around her like a tornado for a moment before they faded and she found herself back in the frozen ruined temple.

“Interesting,” said Goldrinn. “Your subconscious believes that your greatest weaknesses is the conviction that you can never be loved by anyone; can never be accepted and draw strength from others. That you will be crippled by your lack of being recognised.”

“But…” said Lyra. “I’m still, I mean, I’m still scared that no one else will love me. I haven’t beaten it, I can feel it, still there, even though it’s easier with Khadgar and Moodle.”

“Child, no one ever really bests fear. Courage is not it’s absence, it is the going on in spite of it. And now that what was hidden is revealed, you can fight against it better than you could while it remained entirely in your subconscious. Let us continue, I am eager to see more of you young one.”

The scene shifted again, and this time she was standing over the body of the Necromancer she had slain in Scholazar Basin. She gulped. Despite the fact she had been defending herself, and he had slaughtered whole villages, she had never been comfortable with how easy she had found taking his life.

Then Moodle dashed past her into the ruined village, where dead and dying Gorloc’s lay, and she remembered why she hadn’t had much time to dwell on things the last time.

“Help me, some of them are not too badly injured!” he implored her again. Lyra looked towards the Ancient, who merely shrugged his shoulders, before she turned and rushed after the memory of her friend.

Once more she fetched and purified water and did what she could for the dying Gorlocs, her fear and anger just as real as they had been nearly a year beforehand. The sheer casual brutality with which the Gorlocs had been murdered by the Scourge.

Despite her best efforts, and more powerful and skilled magic speeding up her efforts, they saved no more Gorlocs than last time, and only five of them lived to make it onto the stretchers as she began walking back to the Rainspeaker’s home on the far side of the Basin.

As they walked through the endless trees Lyra’s doppelganger and Goldrinn padded silently alongside them, and Lyra tried to work out what she was supposed to take from this second memory. She didn’t think anger at injustice was a weakness, and wasn’t prepared to relinquish that conviction even if it meant her life.

The two Gorlocs who had died beforehand did so again that night, and the next day they resumed their journey after burying them with shards from their home pylon.

Days and nights began to blur into one another, and the other Gorlocs, the one’s who had lived, perished until it was just Lyra and Moodle, who she was levitating on a stretcher through the twisted trees of Wintergrasp. She felt like she had been in Scholazar and then Wintergrasp forever, and she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going anymore, she just knew that she had to keep pushing on. If she didn’t, Moodle would die.

Moodle shivered in the cold, and she tried to conjure fire to keep him warm, but all she could manage was sparks, and he grew weaker and weaker until on the second day of walking through the snow the light died in his bright eyes and his limbs stiffened into rigour mortis.

Then she was riding Bloodfang again as she looked down on her friend’s body, and the warriors of the Horde surged around her as Blue Dragons beyond counting soared through the air above.

“Apprentice! Raise the shield!” yelled Khadgar from beside her, shaking her shoulder. “Why aren’t you raising the shield?”

She hurried to bring up her magic, quickly threading a barrier over the battalion surrounded on all sides by Dragonspawn, their glaives clashing against the might of the Horde.

A wing of Blues swerved in the air, and a dozen of the massive aerial juggernauts began their attack run, opening their maws as they approached and spewing Frostfire down onto her shield.

She gasped from the impact, but held on, threading the shield back together quicker than she had ever managed during the Nexus War and pouring her power into it. Still, she felt it slipping as wave after wave of Dragons passed above, and cracks spread like a spider’s web over the transparent concave barrier of energy.

Then it shattered, and the Horde warriors around her screamed as their bodies were consumed by the terrible cold fire. Bloodfang, her riding wolf, bucked her, and Lyra collapsed into the cold snow, crying as the screams died away and there was nothing but the burning remnants of the battalion and the stretcher with her tiny friend.

She hadn’t been strong enough, she hadn’t been skilled enough, her friend was dead because she hadn’t devoted her enough to her study.

If she’d just read another book, just put in another hour of practice, then Moodle would still be alive, all the Horde soldiers would. She could have held it, if only she’d taken her craft more seriously. It was her fault that they’d died, it was all her fault.

Then Goldrinn was beside her.

“Child, no healer can save all their patients,” he said softly, nuzzling her with a massive snout. “No warrior can protect everyone.”

“Hey!” said the Wolf in an outraged voice. “You can’t help her!”

The Ancient growled at its twisted child, and lupine-Lyra fell silent, although kept on scowling at Lyra.

“You did your best,” said the Ancient. “No one can ask more.”

“I did my best,” Lyra repeated faintly.

“You did your best,” said the Ancient more firmly. “And this is a fear you have already bested time and again, though you do not realise it. The fact you did not stumble and fall into despair while you still had a chance shows that this has no hold on you.”

She had been too young, and too inexperienced for the roles given her, but she had done them anyway, giving her all to protect the column from the Blue’s Frostfire, to save the Mosswalkers. She had worked tirelessly, nearly put herself in a coma levitating the litters back with Moodle.

And he was right, given what she had, she had done her best; and she knew with certainty that the future would be no different. That was who she was. Goldrinn was right, she could do no better, and this wasn’t real. Moodle was alive, and so were most of the Horde warriors; men and women she’s saved.

Tension she didn’t know she had been carrying unknotted in her soul, and she suddenly felt free and light and hard as steel.

Then before she could even take a breath the scene shifted again in a shower of glittering dust, and once more she was back in Dalaran.

Like at the orphanage she suddenly found herself in a far smaller body – only this time she was barely more than a toddler – completely with pudgy hands and the red silk dress her mother had made her from one of her old gowns.

This time, however, there wasn’t the laughter of children playing ball. This time there were screams and a tangible sense of terror. Smoke stung at her eyes, and in an instant she knew where and when she was. She had had nightmares about this day almost every single night since.

The Sacking of Dalaran.

She had been chained by that day, tormented by it, and she knew why she was here. This was her greatest fear, to be small and helpless and unable to defend herself from being turned into a monster. To be forced to hurt other.

“Where are you daddy?” she said, before shaking her head, trying to remind herself this was just a memory. This wasn’t real, it wasn’t. She just needed to remember that.

She staggered through the smoke, trying to find something she recognised as her tiny heart pounded in her chest.

“I want mummy!” she wailed.

She knew her mother was, at the very least, terribly hurt. But she was too young to really accept that. She’d just put a bandage on, and then she’d laugh and tell a story when they all met up outside the city – wouldn’t she?

A shape moved in the fog, and tiny Lyra’s heart sorted for a moment as it revealed itself as a statuesque Queldorei woman.

“Mummy!”

Then the smoke cleared away, showing that the woman’s throat at torn out by the creature that had killed her, and that one of her legs had been badly mangled. Eyes that had once held nothing but warmth for Lyra were cold and pitiless, and she found herself rooted to the spot in. That wasn’t her mummy; not anymore.

Then a second corpse stumbled from the smoke, the dark skin and warm smile of her human father replaced by an angry snarl. After him came more: Khadgar, Moodle, Tzargo, Modera, Jaina, all the people she knew from her life in Dalaran, all gone, all twisted and horrifically injured.

Lyra turned to run, but realised that there was nowhere to go. The undead extended in every direction across the mist filled waists of Icecrown that had somehow replaced the smokey streets of Dalaran.

There was no escape, there was no hope, there was only the choice to resist for as long as she could, or submit.

But she would never submit.

She had promised herself that, back when she had spent her first night at the orphanage, back when she was a three year old and all she’d known was that she was alone. When the only other option had been to give up like she had seen so many other people do, to simply lay there and die.

Lyra skidded to a stop and turned back towards her mother, raising a hand as she roared a challenge at the shambling cadaver – not caring how ridiculous it sounded coming out of tiny child’s mouth. Her magic surged though and around her, pushing the mist away from her and revealing hundreds, thousands, perhaps even millions more undead.

The air ignited around into crimson flames her as she began casting, turning first the monster that had been her mother into a burning pyre before her power billowed out and reduced whole ranks to ash in a wave of blistering fire. More zombies came for her, but she met them with torrents of shimmering heat.

At some point the cadavers shifted, becoming crazed Dragonspawn, Necromancers, or Worgen, or frightening abominations from her darkest nightmares.

She fought in Icecrown, she fought in the Dragonblight, she fought in Dalaran and the Grizzly Hills and Scholazar and places that she had only ever seen illustrated in books: Stormwind, Orgrimmar, Tanaris, Lost-Pandaria, in jungles and deserts, and mountaintops.

Goldrinn and her doppelganger joined her, the former ripping through ranks of undead like a knife through butter, a whirlwind of tooth and claw, the later putting it’s back to her own and loosing torrents of arcane moonlight at it’s foes, it’s voice adding to hers, merging into an enraged harmony.

Lyra didn’t remember it was just a memory anymore, and a false one at that. She forgot she had been turned. She forgot that logically what she was doing made no sense. There was nothing but the struggle, the fear and it’s constant unceasing confrontation and overcoming, her unwavering determination that she would take as many of them with her as she possibly could, that she would never give up, never give in.

She took injures, first a cut to her arm, then a blow to her leg, then she lost an entire hand to a blast of shadowy magic, but she kept on fighting, though the pain and the terror and the certainty that she was going to die.

Metal boots stomped behind her and Lyra and the Wolf turned together to see the twisted visage of the Lich King, bloody phlegm still running down his chest-plate from where she had spat it and dripping onto the flagstones atop the fort at Bloodmoon Isle.

Silver-white fire jumped from the fingertips of their good hand, Moonlight and Starfire mingling as it surged towards Arthas. He blocked it with a shield of deathly cold magic, but they struck again and again until the last of her mana was exhausted and she couldn’t so much as conjure a spark.

They threw themself at the Lich King, clawing at his throat and hitting his face with their cursed stump. Some kind of strange-afterimage flowed around them as they jumped, but they were too focused to really pay it any mind.

Then Arthas’ terrible Runeblade pierced their heart, and she fell to the floor, her life leeching out of her as terrible frost began to cover her body. She tried to rise again, but her muscles would not obey her, and all she could do was turn her eyes on her killer and pour her hatred into her glare.

Then the world burst and dissolved into golden dust, and suddenly Lyra was back in the crumbling temple, lying on the floor, breathing heavily and covered in sweat.

She was confused for a moment, before she remembered how she had gotten here, what she was doing, and that she had forgotten once more that it was a memory, or at least, some strange amalgamation of one. It hadn’t been real, there had been no fight, no injuries, no death. Khadgar had not been turned into a ghoul, nor had Moodle or Modera or Tzargo or Jaina.

She picked herself up and turned to the Ancient who was sitting on the floor, his head still level with her own. Her doppelganger seemed to have disappeared, although she could just be lurking out of sight, ready to pounce on her for all she knew.

Goldrinn nodded approvingly, there was blood on his muzzle, and a trickle of blood ran down one of his mighty forelegs from a cut. “Well done, Lyra of the Kirin Tor.”

“What now?” she asked.

“Now?” he said, cocking his head. “We are done.”

“What?”

“You passed the trial,” he said. “I am the Ancient of Tenacity, and you proved yours. Once the spirit could no longer distinguish itself from you it ceased to be separate and in opposition, and rather than a twisted reflection, became indistinguishable and pure. You are Lyra, but you are also a part of me, the Wolf.”

“But that wasn’t real – I didn’t really strangle the Lich King or get pierced through the heart, lose my hand, or any of that.”

“Child, you are not dim, and I am sure you know the basics of druidism,” he said. “Where do you think we are?”

“Oh,” said Lyra, looking around at the verdant forest, sheer cliffs, plunging waterfalls, and glittering lakes she had somehow not noticed beforehand. Birdsong echoed around her and soft dappled sunlight washed over her face. “The Emerald Dream.”

“Just so,” said Goldrinn. “You are someone with the gift to shape reality with your will, the spark inside you that gives you the potential to be a Mage, a Priestess, a Druid, or even a Warlock,” said the Ancient. “What happens in your mind is less separate from the physical world around you than most, and under the effects of the ritual, here in the Dream, that power to affect change is even greater. That unwinnable fight was real to you in that moment. And if you had run or surrendered then the Wolf would have devoured you. It is not tenacity to fight while hope yet lives, and it is only the deepest darkness that we truly find ourselves.”

“So I’m going to live?” said Lyra.

“For many centuries to come I hope,” said the Ancient, rising from it’s crouch. “We shall meet again, I am sure, but until then know that you have my blessing, and my admiration. Hunt well.”

Then the Ancient vanished, and she found herself staring up at the crumbling masonry once more. For a moment she felt like there was something wrong she couldn’t place. Then she realised that her senses were dulled back to their normal sensitivity. She could no longer smell the Archdruid or – well actually she could smell herself, and she reeked – but the Curse was gone from within her.

She reached up to her hair and drew a strand before her eyes, whooping with joy to find it back to it’s old dark colour. She put her fingers to her teeth, her cuspids still seemed more pronounced and sharp than they should have been, but she could probably spell those back if she wanted to if they were no longer being maintained by the Curse. Although maybe she’d keep them, a memento of what she had been through.

“You live,” said Nightweaver as she sat up. “How did-?”

“My eyes,” interrupted Lyra. “Are they fixed?”

Nightwhisper nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face. “A few flecks of orange, but they are no longer the eyes of a Moon-touched,” he said. “Now, I am eager to hear how you managed to tame the Wolf.”

“I faced my fears, well, I didn’t overcome them, but I understand them a bit better now. And the Wolf fought with me against the monsters I’ve faced in my life, and some I’d just imagined, and we sort of just… merged,” said Lyra. “Goldrinn helped too-”

“The Wolf King yet lives?” said the Archdruid.

“Apparently, he said he couldn’t really die,” she said. “He guided me.”

The Kaldorei’s face broke into a look of total and utter joy, and he put a hand to his heart as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I have not heard such good news in millennia,” he said, offering her a hand up. “I must return to Darnassus, Staghelm must be told.”

“So, does this mean I will be able to transform into a Wolf?” she said, accepting his large palm and getting to her feet. Her entire body felt sore and incredibly fatigued, but without the stress and constant pressure from the Wolf it still felt like she had just woken from a long and restful sleep.

The Archdruid quirked an incredibly long eyebrow at her. “How did you learn to throw a fireball?”

“Oh, um, well I studied for ages to learn how to manifest pyromantic energy from the Arcane-”

“So what makes you think you can simply ‘transform’ into a Wolf at will?”

“Err… something something druidism?” she said, waving her hands.

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Lyra, Druids still need to study,” he said eventually, as his mirth retreated. “You have taken the hardest step of transformation in bonding with a Spirit, and which usually comes last, but you still need to learn to shape the energies of the natural world through your body and the piece of Goldrinn that is inside you.”

“How do I do that?”

“There are some books that discuss the exercises and the spells themselves, although we do not show them to those outside the Circle,” he said, before shrugging. “But Goldrinn accepted you, and who am I to argue with an Ancient? I shall have them sent to Dalaran if you promise to return them when you have mastered the form, and not show or tell anyone else their contents. I will not have the Kirin Tor at large meddling with the secrets of Nature. Do I have your word?”

Lyra bit her lip. She thought that knowledge, with some exceptions like necromancy and Argul’s Worgen curse, should be freely available.

Still, she did also want to learn how to transform and keep most of her mind without a horrifically complicated artefact like Medivh’s old staff that Khadgar used, and she supposed she’d inherit one day in a distant future she didn’t really want to think about. And if she was honest with herself, now that she had experienced a bit of druidism, she wasn’t sure she wanted the Kirin Tor experimenting of the Spirits of Nature. It was very different, and very dangerous, and sounded like a good way to get the Wild-Gods very, very angry at them, or get a lot of mages killed through botched rites.

“Yes, I will keep your secrets,” she said as they made their way out of the temple. “So does this mean I could become a full Druid? Learn to become an Eagle or a Raven or a Cat and do proper healing magic?”

“As part Elven your blood puts you within the Pact Malfurion made with Cenarius, and you are mystically gifted, so you always had the potential,” he said. “Although like your own Art it requires extensive study – decades and decades and decades for true mastery, and is a completely different to the Arcane. But you have taken a major step, and should you ever wish to learn it fully, I would be honoured to teach you.”

“Even though I am a Mage?”

“While I have no particular love for what you study, I would not turn you away after Goldrinn himself guided your rite,” said Nightweaver. “I have come to believe that laws the Shan’do passed against Mages were ultimately self-defeating, and simply caused a rift within the Elven people that may not have been necessary. I would perhaps hope to lead you away from the Arcane by showing you the majesty of Nature, but I would not force a choice upon you; only ask that you teach no anyone outside the Circle what you knew. But it would require an extended period of commitment. Time, I suspect, you will not have for many years to come. Now come, we have been many hours in this temple, and I am hungry – let us impose one last time on the hospitality of the sentinels.”

*

Lyra forced herself to eat and sleep properly before she teleported back to Dalaran. She was utterly exhausted and had depleted most of her mana in the Emerald Dream. There was little point in finding a cure against all odds and then immediately killing herself through a botched spell.

It was just a little after mid-morning as she arrived at the Dalaran lodestone, and the autumn sun was shining brightly through the purple-stained glass of the ostentatious magical entrance to the city. She took a deep breath of the familiar thin air and smiled. It was good to be home.

“Apprentice Lyra!” said a Mage-guard she didn’t know by name. “You’ve returned – Archmage Khadgar will be ecstatic, he’s been turning the city- the entire continent over looking for you.”

Lyra bit her lip, and felt very guilty. “Do you know where he is now?”

“Probably in the Citadel, although you best be quick, last I heard he was talking about commandeering a battalion and taking them on a reconnaissance flight to the Howling Fjord to look for you.”

Lyra winced, and thanked the guard before rushing out of the fortress-like teleport nexus and down the street. The walk usually took a good fifteen minutes, but she covered it in two at a sprint, earning several angry glares from passers by as she wove between the foot-traffic. By the time she got to the Citadel she was puffed; it was pretty clear that any supernatural strength and speed the Curse had ‘given’ her were gone.

“Khadgar, this is futile-” she heard Modera say as Lyra hurried up the many steps.

“I need to find her, it has already been four times longer than the strongest of the others lasted before they succumbed,” he said, before lowering his voice, only barely audible even to her pointed ears. If she still had to Curse it would probably have been crystal clear, but without it she was back to her only slightly better than Human senses. “I have to find her Mod’, I just have to.”

“Khadgar,” said Modera softly. “I’m sorry, but there is no way she still has her mind-”

The steel-haired woman stopped speaking with a gasp as Lyra strode into the grand vestibule where she had sat her Provings two and a half years earlier.

“Khadgar,” said Lyra, clearing her throat as her mentor turned.

A silver-capped blue-grey missile attached itself too her, and hot tears spilled onto the top of her head as she was locked in a vice grip.

“I thought you were dead,” he choked. “Or overcome – your hair, your eyes, I can’t sense a glamour, how did you do this?”

“I beat it,” she said, her own cheeks wet. “I never meant to upset you.”

“That doesn’t matter, you’re back now,” he said. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

They stayed like that for almost a minute, until Khadgar let her go and blew his nose very loudly on a handkerchief Modera conjured for him while the female Archmage studied Lyra with a critical eye.

“I am interested to hear how you managed it,” said Modera. “Everything I’d read – a lot of it in the past month – suggests Lycanthropy always ends in madness if not suppressed with Alchemy. The compulsion seemed to delay the madness until it was removed, but that window is long since passed.”

“I found a Druid to show the rite of shape-shifting to me,” said Lyra. “I confronted the spirit of the Wolf, and bested it – or rather, it stopped resisting me and I sort of realised it was in me all along – sorry I know that’s vague.”

“Could this cure work for the others?” asked Modera, her voice indicating she was apparently not pleased by the inexact nature of druidism.

“No,” said Lyra, who’d given it some thought. “The Archdruid I met, Nightweaver, said that the rite of the Wolf had always been fatal before me, and even if the others were prepared to take the same risk as I was, you need to be one of the races that are in something called the ‘Pact of Cenarius’ in order to learn druidism; an Elf or a Tauren I guess. But all the others infected are all full-blooded Humans. So unless they can figure out how to join the pact – probably impossible with Cenarius gone – I don’t think it will work.”

“Damn,” said Modera. “Well now that Khadgar isn’t going to go charging off to the Fjord I can get back to doing something productive. And Apprentice… you need a bath.”

Lyra flushed and raised her arm, nearly gagging. The Kaldorei had probably thought she was a ghoul when she’d arrived at Star’s Rest.

“Yes, I do,” she agreed as they all moving towards the elevator that was accessible from the mezzanine. “I assume you didn’t got around to selling all my stuff when you got a new apprentice Khadgar?”

“What? I wouldn’t-” he said, outraged for a moment before he realised she was teasing him. He crossed his arms as he caught up with her. “When did you become so cheeky?”

“I was always cheeky,” she said, happy to be falling back into the familiar banter. “Honestly, I’m gone for a measly three weeks and you start re-imagining me being a respectful and deferential student. I think you might be loosing it Khadgar; are you sure you broke that ageing curse?”

“I shall endeavour to make sure the next time I think you have killed yourself to remind myself how disrespectful you can be,” he sniffed as the three of them entered the lift and he waved his hand at the buttons, selecting floor thirty seven a moment before Modera punched in one of the lower levels where most of the Bureaucracy of the city of magic was located. “Honestly, Medivh would have never let me get away with half of what you get up to. I still remember how you burnt my underpants – on purpose.”

“And cursed your socks to itch whenever you told a bad joke,” she supplied.

“Oh yes, how could I forget such a terrible… punishment.”

Lyra and Khadgar giggled, and Modera groaned, stepping quickly out of the lift as it opened onto a large office filled with clerks and not even saying goodbye, eager to escape the ‘juvenile nonsense’ that both Khadgar and now Lyra were slowly becoming known for amongst the Six and people they dealt with regularly.

“I missed you too Khadgar,” said Lyra, squeezing his shoulder as the door closed and the lift started up again. “And listen, all this, the Curse, me running away, doing the rite… it made me realise something: I’ve never told you that you’re like a father to me, and that I can’t imagine what I would do without your friendship. Leaving was the hardest thing I have ever done, and when- when I thought I was going to die, it was the thought that I’d never see you again that hurt the most. I love you.”

Khadgar’s chuffed smile reached his eyes and he wiped his eyes surreptitiously. Then he sniffed and drew something out of a pocket.

“Here,” he said, a moment later, placing the silver Raven pin she had left behind in her palm; the sigil of Medivh, Khadgar, and now herself. “This is yours; it was always yours, and always will be.”


	16. Chapter 16

An immense black wolf padded over the top of the snow, its massive paws alighting on the powdery white crystals without sinking in.

It towered seven feet at the shoulder and reached twenty four or so feet in length from its nose to the tip of its tail. Despite its wild and ferocious looking orange eyes it seemed only mildly annoyed at the Raven perched on it’s shoulder.

“I must say Apprentice, this is a most agreeable way to travel,” said the Raven, it’s voice surprisingly deep and not screechy at all.

“I suppose it beats you _crowing_ about your sore feet,” said the Wolf, it’s voice unusually husky and feminine.

The Raven chuckled, and the Wolf joined in a moment later.

The two weren’t, in fact, actually animals, but rather Khadgar using his staff, Atiesh, to transform into a Raven, and Lyra, who had finally mastered the druidic transformation magic that the Archdruid Nightweaver had allowed her access to the theory of after months and months of study.

Khadgar had been rather upset that she’d spelled the books unreadable and told him she would do terrible things his ‘secret’ stash of chocolate if he tried to read them regardless, but she had been firm. She’d given her word to Nightweaver that no one else would read them, and once she was done and able to assume lupine form at will she’d sent them back via the Kaldorei embassy in Dalaran to Moonglade.

She had been surprised by how quickly she had managed it, but from what she understood druids who didn’t become cursed had to spent _ages_ studying and bonding with a spirit of nature to even get to the place she had been at after overcoming the Wolf. Although their method was also decidedly less dangerous and all around preferable.

It was over half a year since Lyra had returned cured from the Dragonblight. She had spent the rest of her second, and the first few months of her third year of instruction split between studying in Dalaran and trying to avoid diplomatic functions, and helping push back the Scourge at the Icecrown Front; lazy days reading interspersed with frigid, horrible ones fighting the undead.

Like usual, however, Khadgar had gotten bored with this and decided that they hadn’t had enough ‘adventure’ lately. So, after reading the latest letter from Brann Bronzebeard in _Archaeology Today_ (one of the magazines he liked to skim while pretending to do paperwork), he had hurriedly put together some supplies and dragged Lyra off to the Storm Peaks.

The famous Dwarven Archaeologist was looking for the ruins of the ancient Titan city of Ulduar, and apparently Khadgar had managed to swing the ‘potential strategic importance’ of their expedition to the rest of the Council, because they hadn’t even had to sneak off in the middle of the night.

As for why they were walking, and not flying, the clue was in the name of the place. The Storm Peaks could be calm and sunny one minute, and the site of howling blizzards the next, and no flight master who knew anything would let their Gryphons fly any deeper than the outer foothills.

Khadgar probably would have been fine with his Raven form, but since he didn’t want to leave her behind they were making their way on foot, or rather, paw.

Lyra wasn’t bothered, she liked hiking when it wasn’t in the tropical heat. It was also nice to get away from all their obligations and just go for an explore again. It hadn’t really worked out great in Scholazar, but she had a good feeling about this trip.

The universe, however, had other ideas, and Lyra’s ears perked up a few moments before a spear came flying straight at her from a small copse of snowy pines.

Lyra tried to dodge, but was too slow, and the weapon gouged a furrow on her shoulder that made her roar in pain, a sound which shifted from lupine to humanoid as her body changed. Khadgar was back in his own real form a moment later, raising a shield with a stamp of Atiesh.

“Apprentice, are you OK?” he said.

“Fine,” she said with a grimace, holding a hand to her right shoulder. Back in her normal form the injury was proportional, meaning that it was only really a light cut, albeit a rather bloody one.

Lyra took a breath and focused, and a moment later a sheen of sliver-blue conjured cloth materialised and snaked over the cut, wrapping itself underneath her armpit and around her chest a few times beneath her cloak before merging back in on itself.

Mages might not be able to heal themselves, but they could conjure temporary objects. Usually this was to create food that mages could then eat (why exactly the nourishment didn’t vanish from a Mage’s stomach was a matter of some heated debate), but it also served quite well for bandages.

There was movement among the trees, and a few moments later several twelve foot woman emerged. Vrykul, but with the blue-skin tone of the natives of the Storm Peaks, the one’s who hadn’t thrown their lot in with the Scourge.

In fact, if the rumours were anything to go by, they had been the fighters responsible for keeping the undead out of the Storm Peaks entirely.

They were armed with bows and spears which crackled with lightning, and which a Mage like Lyra could feel from fifty feet away were heavily enchanted, and beside them walked immense white bears with saddles and leather armour. Rather intimidating.

Lyra clenched her fists and manifested fire, and an instant later silver-white flames roared up her arms, flickering over her shoulder and raising the temperature around her noticeably, but not burning her. Fire had always been Lyra’s best offensive form of magic, but since taking on the aspect of the Wolf, unless she was focusing on it specifically, her fire came out touched by the moon. Hotter, and extremely corrosive to magical defences and constructs.

The Wolf form was cool and all, but she couldn’t cast in it, and beyond ‘bite her enemy’ she had no real idea of how to fight in it. Moonfire on the other-hand had been an unexpected and welcome boost to her abilities.

“Forgive me Sister,” said the lead Vrykul in Titan, or at least, a recognisable dialect of it, eyeing her fire with a look of interest. “I though you a great beast, a worthy hunt; I did not realise you were a Skinwalker.”

Titan wasn’t one of Lyra’s best languages, and she could read and write it much better than speak it. This was because the proper pronunciation had only been recently discovered with the Discs of Norgannon – interactive artefacts found in the ruins of the Uldaman Titan facility around a decade beforehand.

Even a ten years later there were still enough untranslated transcripts from the discs to fill the main Dalaran Library, with more being published every month by the Explorers League in Ironforge. Many were on fairly mundane or specialised topics, but others detailed the Titans own mastery of magic, and as such were of immense interest to Mages. Thus it had been one of the languages that Khadgar had made teaching a priority.

Lyra very much wanted to knock some sense into the Vrykul huntresses, not kill her of course, but make them think twice about throwing spears around willy-nilly. She resisted, this was the Kirin Tor’s first known meeting with the secretive Vrykul, and she couldn’t afford to be undiplomatic.

“Then we have no quarrel,” said Lyra in very careful Titan, releasing her fire and letting it fade away.

The woman’s lips twitched. “Your accent is very odd,” she said, before nodding towards Khadgar, who had not lowered the shield. “You may tell your servant to lower his shield, we will not attack you.”

“Servant?” said Khadgar, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m-”

_“_ _Quiet, man,”_ hissed the lead Vrykul, hate and almost disbelief woven through her tone.

A report Lyra had read back in the _Dalaran Chronicle_ a month earlier twinged in her memory, about the kidnapping of the men in a Goblin Outpost that had set up stakes within a stones-throw of a Vrykul settlement. All the women had been left unharmed during the Vrykul’s raid, and eventually the male goblins were rescued by a deranged wandering mercenary – also known as an ‘adventurer.’

The returned captives had spoken about a viciously matriarchal society in which men were slaves that did the menial work while the women were all warriors and huntresses. It had caused quite a stir back home, with some particularly dim sparks claiming that it was what the feminist movement wanted to turn Dalaranese society into.

They would almost certainly refuse to treat with Khadgar, but Lyra was a woman, and apparently being able to turn into a wolf impressed the huntress somewhat.

“Yes, quiet _servant_ ,” said Lyra, giving Khadgar a serious look. “And lower the shield, you fool.”

Khadgar looked like he had been slapped for a moment, before he blinked, gave her a small smile, and bowed theatrically.

“Forgive me Mistress, as you command, at once!” said Khadgar in an incredibly hammy voice.

“I am Lyra of the Kirin Tor,” said Lyra, turning back to the Vrykul and hoping that her mentor wouldn’t blow their cover with his terrible acting. “May I know your name?”

“Ah yes, the floating city. I have seen it during my hunts, it is most impressive,” said the woman. “I am Agnetta of the Hyldnir. What brings you to the Peaks of Thorim?”

“We- _I_ am looking for the city of Ulduar.”

“Ah, it is far north, perhaps three or four weeks journey on foot, or a few days of drake-back depending on the storms,” said Agnetta. “I have not been to see it since I was a girl; it seemed a crumbling ruin. What is it you hope to find there?”

“Weapons and knowledge to battle the Scourge,” said Lyra honestly.

Agnetta’s expression became as stormy as the peaks, and she spat into the snow. “The Dead have long attempted to breach our realm, if you are their foes then we welcome you and those like you amongst us Sister; come, our village is not far, we can discuss this more.”

Lyra resisted the urge to look at Khadgar for confirmation; she wasn’t used to calling the shots with him around.

Offering suggestions and opinion? Certainly. Making fun of him whenever possible? Absolutely. But even if they didn’t always agree on politics and ethics, he had vastly more experience than her, and despite his man-child like tendencies he was clever and hadn’t thwarted his corrupted master by collecting bottle-caps.

But she could guess what he wanted her to do in this case easily enough. Finding allies against the Scourge was something that had been one of the Kirin Tor’s main goals since they’d first arrived on Northrend, and if she could swing an alliance with the Frost Vrykul it would be a _major_ coup.

“That is kind of you, please, lead on,” said Lyra, shifting into her Wolf form. Khadgar followed her lead a moment later, landing next to her ear and whispering to her as the Vrykul mounted up.

“Apprentice, if we can forge an alliance-”

“I know,” she growled quietly. “Don’t blow our cover – probably best to stay as a Raven.”

“Yes Mistress,” he said cheekily.

They walked for almost two hours, up out of the valley they had been traversing and into the next, where a giant-scale village sat perched on a wide shelf overlooking a sparkling glacier. There were over a hundred buildings, as well as countless more temporary looking shelters. Huge women were everywhere, going about their business or training in several open spaces with their lightning imbued weapons.

“Is the village always this big?” asked Lyra as they began the descend from the saddle to the town.

“No,” said Agnetta. “Champions from the villages in the peaks have come together for the Hyldsmeet, to determine who will have the honour of courtingt Thorim this year, and who will rule in his stead until the next.”

“Oh,” said Lyra.

Some kind of tournament to decide the ruler? That seemed… a bit like Dalaran’s Mageocracy on prescription only strength potions. You at least had to be clever to be an Archmage, but, and maybe it was because she was a magical snob, she didn’t think the same requirements applied to hitting things with spears.

Although give that the alpine city was ringed by huge stone defences, carved, Lyra could feel, with defensive Runes, perhaps it was closer to Dalaran than she thought.

Runic magic was a core part of the magical education at Dalaran, and Lyra was adept at it. Until recently it had been assumed that the runes were Titanic in origin, and that the great orderers of the cosmos had worked some mindbogglingly powerful magic to impart their meaning and intent into the fabric of reality itself.

However, one of the most important discoveries from the Discs of Norgannon had been the revelation that they were entirely natural, and simply miniature reflections of arrangements of leylines on a grand scale, which in nature were far too dispersed to have an effect, but concentrated could be used like an engineering circuit.

And once the Kirin Tor had known that, and that runic scholarship wasn’t a matter of trying to hazard out unknown Titan runes via reading ancient tomes and archaeology, and that it was instead a study of reality itself, they had begun to figure out how create ‘artificial’ ones that didn’t appear naturally on Azeroth. The flight core in Dalaran owed it’s existence to many of those artificial runes, as did it’s new shielding matrix, and a hundred other aspects of it’s improved defensive systems that had seen off several Scourge aerial raids over the years.

The wards in this village, however, were all ‘natural,’ and after so long working with the far more elegant arrays capable of being produced with the addition of the artificial runes, the Vrykul wards seemed crude and cumbersome in comparison – albeit still charged with quite a large amount of power.

Then all thoughts of runes vanished as Lyra and the group passed the giant gate and rounded the corner to see a line of Vrykul men. Some were blue-skinned, but many were not, and all of them were dressed in rags and bound in chains of cobalt. They stared at her with broken, defeated faces, and wouldn’t meet her eyes, or the eyes of anyone else. Their backs bore the marks of whips and they all looked all malnourished to differing degrees.

Lyra’s first impulse was to call on her magic and sweep aside the chains. Slavery, the forcing of one’s will on another, was one of the main reason she detested the Scourge _so_ much. It was a crippling, hateful thing, and she began threading the spell together that would shatter the chains a moment after she saw them.

“Easy Apprentice,” said Khadgar in her ear, as he no doubt felt Lyra’s magic surge around her. “We did not come here to fight, we need this alliance; it could change the tide of the war.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he said firmly. “You are to attempt to establish a rapport with the Frost Vrykul; not only would attacking this city not solve these men’s problems – they would be caught and re-enslaved – but the Kirin Tor cannot afford to start a war on _another_ front.”

Lyra snarled and looked down, clenching her fist in anger but letting the magic fade. She understood Khadgar’s reasoning, but that didn’t mean she thought it was right and just. She swore to herself that she would find, somehow, some way to help these people.

Angetta, who must have had some mystic ability, cocked her head to one side and regarded Lyra silently for several moments, long enough that Lyra thought she might have figured out what was going through her head. But then the moment passed, and giant woman turned away to continue leading her into the city.

They made their way towards into a large hall where perhaps almost a hundred blue-skinned, and a few pale female Vrykul were gathered. At the end of the hall on a raised dais was a scarred woman on a throne, a circuit of silver metal that sparked with lightning at her brow. She was missing an eye, but the one remaining orb held an air of intelligence and cunning.

“ _Hyldd_ _ronning_ Stormspear,” said Agnetta as they entered, drawing the attention of the entire hall, using some honorific that was too heavily dialect for Lyra to really be able to translate. Dozens of eyes fixed on her and Lyra forced herself to not hunch down. This was a warrior culture, her slight social awkwardness would more likely than not be taken as weakness.

“Agnetta,” said Stormspear. “I had though you would stay out hunting to avoid the shame you received from your thrashing at the Choosing, but here you are. Why? And who is this small one?”

“Lyra Wolfheart of the Kirin Tor, a Skinwalker,” said the woman, fabricating a moniker that Lyra had never heard before. It sounded fairly cool, she supposed, but she would have liked a bit of consultation. “She is on a quest to Ulduar, seeking knowledge and weapons to use against the unquiet dead.”

“What interest is this to us?” said Stormspear, propping her chin on one hand and giving her a bored look.

“She and her people are potential allies-”

“She is a tiny, unknown, untested outsider,” said Stormspear. “Her people have never fought in the Hyldsmeet. What could they possibly have to offer us?”

“Their city soars above the clouds,” said Agnetta, an irritated note in her voice. “If they can manage that, perhaps they can help us hold our wavering-”

“Enough!” said Stormspear, slamming a massive leather-clad fist down onto her armrest. “You will not discuss our military situation in front of outsiders. Remove yourself and this tiny creature from my hall.”

Agnetta scowled at Stormspear. “It is no wonder that Thorim refused you, you are a fool.”

There were several gasps from the hall, and Stormspear’s single eye narrowed. “What did you say to me?

“You heard me,” said Agnetta confidently, although Lyra was close enough to see the tremble of her hand. She feared Stormspear, but she was also brave and apparently as invested in forging an alliance as Lyra was. Things must be bad on their front.

Stormspear stood from her throne and grasped an ornate spear that crackled with lightning, and was probably where she had gotten her name. The crowd parted before her as she advanced, but Agnetta refused to move, holding her head high.

“We cannot hold back the undead forever Sister, see reason-”

“I am _Hylddronning_ , I rule here in Thorim’s stead, not you,” said Stormspear, coming to a stop before her. She was a good two or three feet taller than Agnetta, and walked with a kind of deadly grace that Lyra had seen amongst some of the very most experienced veterans of the Horde in the Nexus War. “You know our laws, we do not acknowledge the untested in these halls, and only Thorim may change the laws. Not me, and certainly not you Agnetta – you who has not even been able to pass the Choosing these past five years.”

Lyra tapped her finger against the side of her cloak, trying to figure out how to salvage this. Khadgar didn’t dare talk so close to the giants, which meant that she was more or less on her own.

“Untested?” asked Lyra, raising her chin and doing her best to project confidence, and hoping very much that she wasn’t crossing some kind of line – she was extrapolating acceptable behaviour from a different warrior culture – the Horde – after all, and that was always risky. “I have battled the undead, Dragons, and cursed wolves. I am the avatar of Goldrinn, the Wolf-God,” she boasted. “And while I may be small, I wield the same power the Titans used to order this world. I am not untested.”

Stormspear’s eye snapped towards her, and for the first time there was interest in her azure gaze. “Perhaps you speak true of your accomplishments, Lyra of the Kirin Tor. But all are untested who do not face the Hyldsmeet, as are their people.”

“The Hyldsmeet?” she said. “Angetta mentioned that – a tournament, yes?”

“Indeed, to determine who may be worthy of courting Thorim, Keeper of Storms.”

Lyra raised an eyebrow. So they were a matriarchy, but their entire government revolved around sucking up to a man. That seemed, at the very least, inconsistent.

“And what does this tournament involve?”

“Duels that last until one combatant is judged to be incapable of fighting, although often to the death, with five champions from each village,” said Stormspear. “The winner is permitted to approach and make a request of Thorim, and if not chosen as mate, as none since the mighty Sif have been, they rule for the year until the next Hyldsmeet.”

“And the only way that I can even discuss an alliance with you against the Scourge is to take part in this?” she said.

“That is correct, if you compete honourably and well you and your ‘Kirin Tor’ would gain the recognition of the Hyldnir,” said Angetta. “Stormspear, Wolfheart has claimed a history worthy of championship, and there is provision for outsiders to be admitted; I will vouch for her.”

“That is true,” said Stormspear slowly, looking Lyra up and down. “Do you wish to compete?”

The Raven nipped at her ear, but Lyra ignored Khadgar and returned Stormspear’s look. She had no desire to fight for no reason, but it didn’t sound like she had to kill, and if it was the only way to secure an alliance then it was her duty as a member of the Kirin Tor to agree.

“What are the rules?” she asked, ignoring Khadgar’s hiss.

“You may take in whatever equipment you desire, and use any powers you possess, but may not receive outside help once the duel is begun,” said Stormspear.

“Then I accept your offer to compete.”

 

* * *

 

“What were you thinking!” exclaimed Khadgar, pacing back and forward in the huge and very cold room she had been given.

“I was thinking that the Kirin Tor needs this alliance, that it might be the edge we need in this war,” said Lyra, crossing her arms and glaring at her mentor.

“It is too risky,” he said. “We should leave this horrible place now. We came out here to do some exploring and research, not enter you into a potentially deadly tournament.

“Khadgar, I know this is dangerous, and what they do to the Vrykul men disgusts me, but isn’t a bit of personal risk worth it if we can gain a powerful ally?” she said. “And Khadgar, I’m a Mage, I’m not helpless.”

“Arrogance has been the downfall of many of our kind Lyra, do not fall into that trap.”

“If you were in my place, what would you do?” said Lyra. “Answer me honestly. If you could take an action that was dangerous, but could sway the war in Icecrown in our favour, wouldn’t you do it?”

“Maybe, but you are still an Apprentice-”

“You said yourself a month ago that you thought I could pass the Mage test if I wanted to take it,” she said. “You can’t have it both ways Khadgar; I cannot simultaneously be a weak little Apprentice and have the skill and power of a full mage.”

“Lyra, you could _die,_ ” he said. “And just because you could pass the test doesn’t mean you don’t have so much left to learn.”

“We are at war, I could die every time I venture from Dalaran, or even if I stayed put and the Scourge overran us,” she said. “That isn’t a good reason not to compete.”

“At least promise me that you’ll yield if you think your life is in immediate danger,” he said. “It will cost us nothing.”

It could cost them any potential alliance if she didn’t accrue enough of a standing, but she knew Khadgar wouldn’t let it rest until she agreed. “Fine.”

Khadgar rubbed his face, before holding out Atiesh. “Here.”

“What?” said Lyra, confused.

“Borrow the staff.”

“I can’t, the staff is-"

“Is an artefact of our magical lineage, you have just as much a right to wield it as I do,” he said firmly. “That Raven on your cloak is more than just a fancy pin, it places you in the line of Alodi; the line of the Guardians. And it will be no use sitting in my hand while you’re risking your life for the Kirin Tor.”

Lyra gingerly accepted the wooden Raven headed staff, and gasped as her fingers closed over the haft.

She’d known, academically, that the staff that had been wielded by every single Guardian of Tirisfal to ever live would be powerful, but she hadn’t expected it to feel like holding a piece of the sun itself

Lyra had trained with foci before, but their gains had always been moderate, and she always found them slightly constricting. They focused and channelled power, yes, but they also predisposed it to a certain shape and weave. Unless it was a masterwork item, a staff good for making fireballs would be reluctant to use fire in any other way, let alone frost or the arcane. It could still _do_ it with a bit more effort, but Lyra had always thought it sort of defeated the purpose. She preferred to be quick and flexible rather than predictable and slightly more powerful.

Atiesh wasn’t like that, it felt just as flexible and versatile as she was, if not more so, while simultaneously feeling like it would focus and amplify her strength several times over. The level of boost she got out of it would probably diminish as she grew more powerful, but she was sure that it would always be a foci with few peers in the world.

“Wow,” she breathed. “This is incredible.”

“I’ll want it back when you’re done,” chuckled Khadgar. “Just consider it a taste of what you’ll one day inherit. Although hopefully I’ll manage to _stave_ off death for a while yet.”

Despite the tension of the situation Lyra laughed. “That was awful, you need to _focus_ more on your puns.”

“What? I thought it was quite- oh I see, subtle, I like it. That’ll _Atiesh_ me.”

“ _Atiesh_? Teach? I don’t think you have the _reach_ for that one, especially not without the staff.”

“You’re probably right, I’ll try to _stave_ off me disapp-”

“You can’t use that one again,” said Lyra, cutting him off. “If you can’t handle the pace old man, you should just _stick_ to speaking normally. Leave it to new generation to _branch_ out.”

Khadgar wiped a non-existent tear from his eye. “The Apprentice becomes the Master – or in this case, the Mistress.”

“Oh don’t you start that again, I thought you were going to ham it up so badly they’d see straight through us.”

“As you command!”

Lyra threw her half-eaten piece of conjured bread at him, which he ducked with a grin as she spelled herself up another one.

“Just be careful, OK?” he said as he sobered.

“Aren’t I always?”

Rather than relax him, the comment made Khadgar tensed up. Right, it hadn’t been long since she’d gotten badly hurt, that had been silly of her.

“Khadgar, I’ll yield if I think my life is in danger – but I _will_ do my best. I need to.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I just wish that you could have a proper Apprenticeship; the most you should have to worry about is bed-bugs, not going toe to toe with axe-crazy giantesses in your third year.”

“So do I, but we have to do the best in the situations we find ourselves,” she said, finishing her bread, rolling her cloak into a bundle for her head and climbing into her thin, but very warm bedroll. “Now I’m going to sleep, I’ll need to be alert tomorrow – goodnight Khadgar.”

“Goodnight Lyra,” he said, climbing into his own and waving his hand to dismiss the warelight they had been eating under. And a few minutes later Lyra found herself drifting off to sleep.

The moon rose a few hours later, and like it had every time since she had been changed it woke Lyra as its light played over her skin, filling her with it’s sparkling fey energy. She might have acted cavalier with Khadgar, but she was also worried about the next day.

Competing was not only the best way to help the Kirin Tor though, it was also the _only_ way she could think of helping those enslaved men.

She didn’t just have to do well in the Hyldsmeet to accomplish everything she _needed_ to do.

She had to win it.


	17. Chapter 17

Lyra woke early the next morning, conjured some cardboardy strudel which was currently the best tasting thing she could manage, and began to prepare a cup coffee from the small bag she had taken with her for the expedition. 

She’d already had a cup two days ago, so according to the ration scheme she’d worked out for herself she shouldn’t really have had another one for another five or so, but she felt like she needed one that morning. Despite what she had said to Khadgar, she was nervous.

After a moments consideration she conjured a second temporary cup and made one for Khadgar, mixing in a bit of chocolate like she knew he liked before shaking him awake.

He accepted the cup groggily and took a sip, before frowning.

“Chocolate too? You’re worried,” he said after a moment.

“A little,” she shrugged, sipping her own cup, black, no sugar, and taking a bite of strudel.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said, stretching. “I’d be happier if you didn’t.”

“No, no – it’s the right thing in the circumstances, and you know it, it’s just, well, if this is our last breakfast together, there isn’t much point being stingy with my rations, is there?”

They ate in silence for almost ten minutes before Khadgar spoke. “I want you to know it isn’t your ability that I doubt, but as Bloodmoon Isle showed you, anyone can be blindsided, and the cleverer you are, the worse it is when you do fail. I agree that this is the best option since I wouldn’t be able to compete in your stead. Just… be careful.”

“Promise,” she smiled, finishing the last of her coffee and eating one last piece of strudel before standing. “Well then, shall we?”

They left the house and headed towards the large central area where over sixty Vrykul women were stretching and getting ready for the day’s bloodshed. 

Stormspear was amongst several other women, who were laughing and slapping each other on the back, apparently totally at ease despite the fact they could well be facing off against one another later that day. One or two of them had the pink skin tones of Vrykul from other areas of Northrend, but almost all of them were from the Peaks. 

Overlooking the arena were hundreds of spectators, and more arrived at every moment. At one end on a raised section were two huge barrels, next to which stood a Vrykul woman wrapped in a voluminous robe strewn with feathers. She had a wizened face and snow-white hair, and regarded the scene impassively, as if she had seen it so many times before that it had lost all novelty.

“Ah, Wolfheart,” said Agnetta, approaching Lyra. The Vrykul wrinkled her nose slightly at Khadgar, but said nothing. “I had hoped your mettle would hold; the children of the storm need this alliance, even if Stormspear may not yet see it.”

“As does the Kirin Tor,” said Lyra. “So how does this work?”

“There are sixty seven combatants this year – we have more than the usual number of women from elsewhere competing: those disgusted by their homeland’s decision to join the ‘Death God,’” she said. “The Arbiter will give you a number, which will be pulled from the barrel along with your opponent’s. If you win, you progress to the next round, if you are defeated, yield, or die, then you are knocked out – simple. Winning a single round or even performing honourably will be enough to have you recognised, but if you are to truly impress the clans on behalf of your people, then you should aim to win at least three bouts. After that, even if you are bested you will have proven worthy of respect.”

“And if I win?”

Agnetta scoffed. “You will not.”

The giantess moved off, and the nervousness in Lyra’s stomach grew as she nodded a goodbye to Khadgar and entered the arena. She got several looks, and nearly as many snorts of amusement, but Lyra shut it out with a practised focus as she gripped Atiesh and took deep calming breaths.

She’d fought before, several times even. Still, she knew she would have to be careful. She was less than half the height of the average Vrykul woman, and just because these fights weren’t necessarily lethal for them didn’t mean that she could take a hit from one of their clubs, spears, or swords – even with her enchanted clothes.

A few more women entered the arena and began warming up, chatting, laughing, and getting into arguments. Then there was some kind of unspoken signal, and the entire village fell silent.

“Welcome, Sisters, to the Hyldsmeet,” said the white-haired woman. “This year women from all over the continent come to join us, as well as an Outlander.”

There were a few snickers as a thousand eyes fell on her, but Lyra forced herself to hold her head high. She had bested the Wolf, she didn’t fear a few sexist woman with enormous weapons. 

Well, maybe she feared them a little, but she couldn’t let it show.

“The Hyldsmeet is our most sacred tradition, it is where courage, skill, and honour are demonstrated for all to see. The weak burn in its fire and the strong emerge tempered, as we once were before the Curse of Flesh robbed us of our Titanforged perfection. There can be only one victor, and she shall be given the honour and chance to court the mighty Keeper Thorim, and shall rule our clans as Hylddronning for one year, before she must either relinquish her role or prove once again that she is worthy. Fight with honour, Sisters.” Then she turned to the barrel and withdrew a ball with a number written on one side in Titanic runes. “Sigrid Iceheart, your number is one.”

Then she placed it in the other barrel and moved to grab another ball, calling another name and repeating the process over and over and over again until every woman in the arena had been given one. Lyra – or rather ‘Wolfheart’ - as apparently her name was to these people now, had been given forty two.

Then the arena was cleared, and Lyra found a spot next to Khadgar and Agnetta.

The first two numbers were six and forty seven, a Frost Vrykul woman with a huge hammer called Bjorn, and a tan-skinned Vrykul called Svetla from the Howling Fjord who wielded a long spear inscribed with Runes.

They took up places perhaps forty feet from one another and bowed, before adopting ready stances and waiting.

Then the Arbiter slammed a massive fist into her palm, gave the order to begin, and the two blurred into motion.

Bjorn rushed forward with a battle-cry, crossing the intervening distance at a speed that frightened Lyra, raising her hammer as she ran. 

Svelta, on the other hand, didn’t move and instead twirled her spear in a practised motion and made a sign with her hand, conjuring a glowing orange rune. Fire lashed out from her spear and shot across the distance between them a moment later. 

It was a decent enough spell, although in the Kirin Tor needing to create a rune first as a sort of temporary focus was regarded as almost criminally slow, and no one still needing that sort of crutch could ever pass the Mage exams at the end of five years instruction. Lyra hadn’t had to do it since she was ten. Good, if that was the worst of the competition she would face, she already had this in the bag.

Bjorn tried to dodge the searing column, but didn’t managed to entirely evade it, taking some of flame of her bare arm. The smell of burnt flesh filled the open air arena, but the Frost Vrykul didn’t even slow, getting into melee range and lashing out with a swipe at the other woman’s head.

Svelta ducked, and jabbed her spear forward with one hand as she created another rune, this one blue, and which conjured a shard of ice a moment later which rocketed towards Bjorn and took her in the thigh.

Bjorn roared and wrenched it out, falling back as thick crimson blood fell hissing to the snow below her. Svelta didn’t relent, instead slamming her spear forward and scything through the other woman’s bicep.

Bjorn swung wildly with her good arm, but missed and collapsed into the snow as her leg spasmed and failed.

Svelta’s spear was at her throat a moment later, and the Frost Vrykul stilled.

“I yield.”

“Svelta of Skorn is victorious,” announced the Arbiter.

The tanned woman grinned and withdrew her spear, offering her free hand to the other woman, who took it with a laugh.

“Well fought Sister,” she said, apparently holding no ill will towards the woman she had only moments beforehand been locked in mortal combat with.

Svelta helped her opponent hobble out of the arena as the next fight was called, once again not including Lyra.

Like the first fight the rest were all bloody, although there were no deaths until the seventh round, when two swords-women fell in a tumble and one of them caught a blade in the belly.

The dying woman twitched and gurgled a few times, before falling limp. Her opponent, who was covered in not entirely trivial wounds herself bowed her head for a moment, before sheathing her weapon and reaching down to pick up her former foe, hauling the eleven foot woman up with a grunt and making her way out of the arena as the next fight was called.

“Forty Two and Seventy,” announced the Arbiter. “Lyra Wolfheart of the Kirin Tor, and Hilda Rimefang of Valkyrion.”

Lyra took a deep breath and began to make her way into the arena, reaching the entrance just as a tall Frost Vrykul with an axe bigger than Lyra was swaggered in, giving the half-elf a look of disdain before moving to take up her position in the blood-splattered snow.

Hilda bowed fractionally, and Lyra very much wanted to respond in kind; but she didn’t think that would endear her to the locals. She needed to respect their traditions somewhat if she had a chance of impressing them. So she bowed as low as the others had, holding Atiesh loosely by her side and flexing the free hand’s fingers.

“Begin!” barked the Arbiter a moment later. 

Hilda didn’t move, instead propping her axe on one shoulder and gazing at the Arbiter.

“You expect me to fight this tiny woman? She is barely taller than a babe – it would be like culling a ram; she is not worthy of this hallowed event.”

There was a ripple of laughter through the arena, and although the Arbiter seemed unamused, she made no move to intervene.

Lyra glowered, of all the first opponents to face, she had to get a rude one. Well, she couldn’t let that stand.

“Surrender little one, and I will not have to break your tiny bones,” said the woman, beginning to stroll towards Lyra.

Then she was picked up bodily and hurled backwards as Lyra threw a wave of telekinetic force at her. Hilda flew several feet before landing and tumbling over the snow, her axe flying even further away.

“I was told this would be an honourable duel, and yet you do not even do me the courtesy of taking me seriously,” said Lyra. “Well I may be small, but I wield the power of the Titans. Compared to that, you are tiny.”

Normally she wasn’t one for taunting in combat, but this was half theatre after all.

“So get up, Tiny,” Lyra goaded as the woman spat out snow.

Hilda rose slowly and drew a dagger, murder flashing in her eyes before she broke into a sprint and a scream.

Lyra responded with another jet of force. But this time Hilda caught it on her dagger, and the enchantments dispersed the magic enough that it only slowed her down. 

Lyra’s eyes widened as the woman closed to within melee range, barely getting a blink together before her a viscous horizontal swing passed through the air where her throat had been a moment beforehand.

Hilda roared in anger and frustration as Lyra vanished before her, reappearing thirty feet away behind her back, and was just turning as Lyra brought Atiesh up in an arc in front of her. 

The Vrykul charged again, but a wall of snow rose to meet her, and just before it hit Lyra twisted her hand to the right, making the snow change into a wave of water which engulfed the Vrykul woman.

Then Lyra twisted her hand back, and with a grunt flash froze the entire thing. Normally such a spell would have left her breathless, but Atiesh made her spells incredibly efficient, and she only felt slightly strained.

She saw the Vrykul woman blink in surprise from within her icy tomb, and she struggled as her face began to turn even bluer than usual. A moment later the Arbiter spoke.

“Hilda of Valkyrion is unable to continue, Lyra Wolfheart of the Kirin Tor is victorious.”

Lyra nodded and released her spell, transfiguring the ice back into water.

Hilda collapsed, coughing and spluttering before she staggered to her feet and stalked from the arena, stopping only long enough to retrieve her fallen axe and dagger, and not even looking at Lyra.

“Impressive,” said Agnetta, as Khadgar smiled and gave her a thumbs up. “Perhaps our people will have an alliance after all.”

The bouts continued, and by the time the first set was done it was mid-morning. Out of thirty three duels there had only been four deaths. But Lyra had still been disturbed at how, although the killer would invariably honour their slain foe, they could be seen minutes later laughing and chatting amicably with the others as they watched the other fights.

Death, it seemed, was cheap in the Storm Peaks.

Since there had been an odd number of contestants, Stormspear had no been required to compete in the first bout, so Lyra had no idea how good she was. But given that she had seen at least fifteen other Runeweavers of varying ability – twelve of whom had won their bouts – she was almost certain that Stormspear would be a powerful elemental spell-caster. How else could she stand up to the others?

However, other than her, Lyra was feeling reasonably confident of her abilities. The other spell-casters, while some of them packed a punch, were clearly not classically trained Mages. Not like she was, and so long as they didn’t catch her off-guard she was pretty sure she could tie their magic into knots; their crude point a shoot approach was like a single out of tune flute to her soaring symphony orchestra. Well, maybe Khadgar had the orchestra, but she had at least a decent band that could manage a harmony.

There was a brief interlude before the next round of fights began, during which time those who had been injured in the last bout were patched up as well as they could be by a few priestesses.

Lyra wasn’t called until the thirteenth fight, and faced off against a woman called Yvette Sharpeye, who had been a middle of the pack Runeweaver. As they walked into the field and took their positions the woman bowed low, and Lyra didn’t detect a hint of condescension towards her, only interest. Apparently she had their attention.

She bowed back, and a moment later the Arbiter began the fight.

Yvette made a sign, and the beginnings of the rune for lightning began to form in front of her fingers.

But before it finished, Lyra flicker her hand and launched her counter-spell. 

The rune fizzled and Yvette stared down at her hand in disbelief for a moment before looking up just in time to see a lance of – blunted – arcane force that threw her from her feet and sent her rolling over the blood-stained slow.

Apparently counter-spells weren’t part of a Runeweaver’s normal repertoire. 

Yvette tried to stand, but Lyra’s next spell was already on it’s way – a flickering azure and orange ball of mist that settled over the woman without any immediately obvious affect.

Yvette wobbled to her feet, a look of confusion on her face for a few moments before she slipped and fell to the ground. She lay still for a few moments before trying to stand again, only to end up in the snow a second later.

“Yield,” she said after a moment, and Lyra released the spell as the Arbiter called the match.

“Impressive,” said Yvette as she stood, still slightly woozy as they made their way towards the entrance. “How did you disrupt my Rune?”

“A counter-spell,” said Lyra. “I altered the flux of energy around your sigil, fed it back on itself to cause a cascade failure.”

“And my balance?”

“A curse to affects your inner ears and makes it feel like gravity is constantly switching around you,” said Lyra. “Perhaps if our people reach a compact I could show you how to shrug it off?”

“Ah ha!” laughed Yvette. “I would like that. Do all the Kirin Tor know such things?”

“All the trained members do,” said Lyra.

“Well I hope that I never face you on the battlefield, or at least, not until you have shown me its counter,” said Yvette offering her hand as they reached the edge and passed the next two contestants – Sigrid Iceheart and Stormspear, whose first name was apparently Linda. “It was an honour to fight you Wolfheart.”

“And you,” said Lyra, as she gingerly shook the massive woman’s hand and the next round started.

Then there was a massive flash of light and Lyra forgot all about being diplomatic as her blood ran cold and she turned to watch a glowing Linda Stormspear rush towards a terrified looking Iceheart.

And just like that she didn’t like her odds of winning anymore.

Stormspear was a fucking Paladin.

The tall one eyed woman closed on her prey, and Iceheart lashed out with her sword. It was a good swing, despite the woman’s obvious fear, but Stormspear didn’t even attempt to dodge or parry it. Instead she caught the blade with a leather gloved hand, closing her grip on it and wrenching it from her foes hands.

Sigrid blanched, and fumbled for a dagger. Stormspear, however, was faster, and in the blink of an eye rammed her own, titular, weapon into the snow next to her and punched Sigrid in the face.

The snap of the woman’s jaw was audible across the entire arena, and Iceheart crumpled instantly – knocked out in a single blow.

Paladins were, along with true Death Knights, the only people who used close range weapons that really scared Mages. Their connection to the Light meant they could shrug off spells with ease, as well as imparting upon them super-strength and super-durability. The really experienced ones could even make themselves temporarily immortal and do things like wade through lava. They were scary. Really, really scary.

They were also almost all zealots, which made them even more terrifying for someone like Lyra who was only a few rungs down the list of ‘abominations’ from things like Undead, Worgen, and Orcs to many non-Dalaranese humans.

“Linda Stormspear of Bruunhildar is the victor,” announced the Arbiter, a few moments after she had spoken to begin the duel.

Stormspear grinned as she held up her bested foe’s weapon by it’s blade, only the thinnest trickle of blood running down her arm from where she had caught the weapon mid slash.

Then she reached down and picked the other woman up one handed by the front of her armour, grabbed her spear in the other and began to make her way out of the arena.

“Fucking hell,” breathed Lyra.

Yvette chuckled. “Stormspear has won the past six Hyldsmeets, she wields the power of Odyn himself. I fought her last year, and lasted no longer than Sigrid there. I would enjoy seeing both of you fight, I hope you make it to the final round.”

“I don’t,” mumbled Lyra under her breath, saying good-bye to Yvette and making her way back to Khadgar and Agnetta.

“Well done Apprentice,” whispered Khadgar, before turning back to the next fight just as one of the women mistepped and caught a dagger in her chest. He winced, and Lyra felt the urge to vomit as the round was called and the still living woman was hastily dragged off the arena floor. Hopefully the healers would be able to save her.

The next half hour flew past in a furious clash in steel, and then there were only seventeen competitors remaining. Lyra sighed in relief when she realised that since the number of competitors were odd again, and would remain so until the final bout, it meant that it was very likely that she have to fight Stormspear.

Instead Lyra faced off against Svelta the Runeweaver in the next round. Lyra hit her with the same one-two combo she had used on Yvette, and Svelta proved no more capable of shaking off the curse than the other Vrykul had been.

And then there were nine.

Lyra faced a scarred warrior next, who wielded two axes which she ignited with blue fire. Unlike the others she managed to throw off the curse by simple coating herself in elemental power – an incredibly inefficient, but effective way of getting rid of hostile magic. Unfortunately for her, the effort meant that she was unable to break out of the frozen tomb that Lyra cast upon her.

Then there were five.

“You have surpassed my expectations Wolfheart,” said Agnetta as Lyra ate some lunch during the extended interlude between the last three rounds. “I expected you to fight in your wolven form, but it seems you are a most adept Runecaster.”

“Mage,” she said. “I’m a Mage. And the Kirin Tor is filled with those better than I.”

“Truly?” said Agnetta, her eyebrows raised, a calculating gleam in her eye. “Then perhaps together we will crush the unliving.”

Lyra sort of wanted to throw the next match, although she couldn’t really figure out a way to do that without either a. getting hurt and possibly killed, b. being seen as cowardly and dishonourable, and c. giving up all hope of being able to set the slaves free. No, she had to fight.

So she turned her next competitor into a sheep and blasted them out of the arena.

And then there were three.

She went back to her disorienting hex for the chance, which she didn’t really want, to fight Stormspear.

And then there were two: Lyra and Stormspear.

Lyra gulped as she entered the arena next to the six time champion, who was looking at Lyra with barely contained rage.

“Begin!”

Light flared around Stormspear as she charged, and Lyra wasted no time. She didn’t muck around with polymorphs, or waves of water, or disorienting fields, she went straight for a curtain of moonfire, which erupted from Atiesh hotter than anything she’d ever cast before. The woman was a Paladin, she could take it – hopefully.

There were gasps from all around the arena as Stormspear skidded to a stop and raised a dome of light a moment before her fire hit. The Vrykul queen grunted in effort, and was pushed back a few paces before Lyra had to cut the spell off to conserve her mana, moving into another spell, this one a spike of wickedly sharp ice the size of a wagon that hurtled towards the giantess.

Stormspear smashed it aside with her weapon, lightning and blazing Light shattering the arcane ice into glittering powder.

Then she charged again, and Lyra aborted her next spell to instead use the time to blink across the arena.

Like her first opponent Stormspear was confused by her foe’s sudden disappearance, and barely turned in time to see the gout of moonfire that caught her in the chest and sent her flying.

The woman tumbled twice before twisting back to her feet. Her armour was red-hot, but had held, and Stormspear herself seemed entirely uninjured.

Lyra launched another disorienting curse, this one strong enough that it manifested as a bolt of orange lightning rather than a cloud of mist. It hit the Vrykul, but Stormspear didn’t even wobble as she charged towards Lyra again.

Lyra switched to frost, conjuring a veritable minefield of razor sharp icicles angled towards her opponent.

Stormspear didn’t even slow down, simply barrelling through the obstacles and smashing them aside as if they had been conjured from sugar-glass. A few cuts opened on her skin, before sealing themselves a moment later as the Light surged around her.

A bead of sweat rolled down Lyra’s neck as she blinked again, gasping back a stitch as she began to weave together the spell for an elemental construct.

Her mermaid-like water elemental rose to meet Stormspear a moment later, it’s edges perfectly defined and it’s ice-glaive wickedly sharp.

Stormspear destroyed it in a single Light imbued punch.

Lyra started to feel panicked as she blinked again, this time conjuring another wave of ice-water that she froze around Stormspear.

As with Hilda, Stormspear was entirely entombed in ice, and Lyra took a moment to get her breath back before the tomb exploded in a hurricane of Light magic.

And then Stormspear charged once more, and the dance continued.

Spell, spell, blink. Spell, spell, blink. Spell, spell, blink.

But no matter how much of her Atiesh boosted power she poured into her spells the woman’s Light seemed virtually unending, and the Vrykul would simply block and charge, block and charge. 

Stormspear might have looked slightly more tired than when she began, but Lyra’s reserves grew lower and lower until after one blink she had been forced to use she staggered and nearly fell, her mana gone.

Stormspear whirled on her, by this point having got used to Lyra’s tactic, and broke into a sprint, bloodlust in her eyes. 

Lyra’s heart set up a staccato as she realised even if she yielded the woman wasn’t going to stop. She was going to kill her. Lyra was never supposed to have gotten this far. She had humiliated the Vrykul, bested all but their greatest warrior with what they had surely realised was almost contemptuous ease and given Stormspear the run around for close to fifteen minutes. She should have just taken a dive. 

Lyra realised she was going to die, she was out of mana – and without mana she was just a slightly shorter than average half-elf with no form of hand-to-hand combat training.

Lyra reflected, as the world seemed to slow and she saw her death approaching, that she’d had a good run really. She’d lived more in the past two and a bit years than most people did in their whole lives. And the Kirin Tor would get their alliance. Maybe she’d even get to see her parents again. That would be nice…

All that remained was to acquit herself as best she could.

Then she remembered that if she died the slaves would to remain bound and chained, living lives of misery and degradation.

No, she wouldn’t allow it, not while she had breath. There must be something she could do.

“Oh. Of course,” she thought, feeling a little foolish.

Lyra leapt at Stormspear, who looked confused for a moment. But then Lyra’s form shifted and instead of a five foot something Half-Elf a colossal Wolf, larger than the Vrykul, came barrelling towards the paladin, and confusion turned to something that might have been fear.

Stormspear tried to shift her attack, bringing her spear forward, but was too slow, and Lyra’s massive form knocked the Paladin to the ground, sending the weapon spinning off and away across the churned snow as Lyra’s huge maw descended on the woman.

Stormspear screamed as she caught the wolf’s muzzle with both hands, her immense Light given strength still trembling against the fury of Goldrinn that flowed through Lyra. Paladins might have super-powers, but in that moment Lyra was literally the avatar of the Wild God of fury and tenacity.

They struggled for a few moments before the Vrykul let go with one hand and punched Lyra in the side of the head, but not before the Wolf’s fangs came down on the Vrykul’s other hand.

Lyra’s teeth sheered through the thick reinforced leather in a way that normal Wolf teeth never could, and the Paladin howled in agony as half her hand came away. 

Sweet coppery blood spilled over her tongue and Lyra shook her head, sending the bloody mess spinning away up and out of the arena.

Stormspear managed to get her leg up and kicked Lyra off her, sending her skidding back as the Vrykul Queen got to her feet, grimacing as the Light glowed around her and her damaged hand regrew before Lyra’s eyes.

Then Stormspear leapt again, lashing out with Light infused fists, and a blood haze descended on Lyra as the world narrowed and she answered in kind.

There was no tournament, no slaves, no war with the scourge, no potential alliance. There was only the Hunt, and the Vrykul that was her prey.

Afterwards Khadgar would tell her that the fight continued for almost another ten minutes, but during the duel itself the Hunt seemed simultaneously endless and instantaneous.

Then her teeth closed on the woman’s throat and Stormspear screamed as Lyra’s fangs began to sink into the woman’s soft icy flesh, “Yield!”

The Wolf wanted nothing more than to bite down and taste the woman’s lifeblood, but Lyra pushed it back with a snarl, staggering backwards away and transforming as she was declared victor.

She looked down at her trembling hands, confused as to why they were a strange shade of purple and blood seemed to be streaming off her arms.

‘Oh right,’ she thought, ‘the injuries transfer over.’

She was vaguely aware that the Vrykul were chanting “Wolfheart,” but all she really wanted was to find a nice place to lie down and sleep and wrap herself in bandages from head to toe.

Then she feinted, which probably wasn’t going to be good for her image as the new Queen.

*

A.N. So I hope that this doesn’t seem like too much of a step up in power for Lyra. I felt it was consistent for her to trounce non-spellcasters in straight duels with how I’d written magic, and the Vrykul Runecasters were simply outclassed by a woman who was already gifted before she began her study at the foremost institution for magical educational on the planet. She’s also getting a hefty boost to her abilities by wielding one of the strongest magical artefacts on the planet.

Also, she is in her third year now, and something like six months – now a quarter of her total time studying – has passed since the Grizzly Hills stuff.


	18. Chapter 18

Lyra was still incredibly bruised and achey as she clung to the Blue proto-drake she had been given to fly to the top of the nearby peak where Keeper Thorim dwelt. Her wounds were all healed, but since she wasn’t a Light-user herself it would take her body some time to adjust to all the regrown and healed tissue. 

Lyra also wasn’t enthused to be flying, since although she’d been assured that the mighty lizard she was seated on could resist the terrible storms, she wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Are you sure you don’t need a few more days rest Hylddronning?” said Khadagar, part cheeky, part concerned.

Despite having passed out, and being an outsider, when she had woken up Lyra had discovered that she’d been made queen of the Vrykul in the Storm Peaks for a year. Which as a republican(1) who had just been trying to set up diplomatic relations, she found rather surreal.

“I’m fine. And stop calling me that Khadgar,” she said, before smirking. “I command it.”

“As you say my Queen!” he said. “So, are you going to pop the question to Thorim?”

“No,” she said. “That’s just what all the other Vrykul have asked, I checked, I can ask him for any boon I desire.”

“Oh!” said Khadgar. “So you’re going to ask him to enter the war on our side? If what I’ve read about Keepers is accurate, he would be an invaluable asset.”

“No,” she said. “I know what I need to ask.” 

“Lyra, this is not a game.”

“No.”

“Lyra-”

“No!”

“Lyra, this is not a request, this is an order,” he said. “I know I don’t throw my authority around with you often, but I am invoking it now. You understand?”

“I heard you,” she said in clipped tones.

“Good.”

As her Proto-drake climbed higher Lyra reflected that authority was a tricky thing. For any thoughtful soul obedience was always in fundamental tension with conscience. 

Sometimes this tension didn’t surface, either because the order was reasonable or the subordinate sufficiently unimaginative. That was easy; what was hard was when the two were radically opposed.

Lyra hadn’t received many orders outside of a battle, even during the war, so it hadn’t really come up for her before. But now she was faced with the choice of doing what Khadgar said, or doing what she knew was right.

If she followed his orders, then her life would probably continue on the same course it had for the past few years. If she challenged it, there would be personal repercussions. Despite it’s university like feel, the Kirin Tor was technically a military organisation, and Khadgar was her superior officer.

But if she followed his orders, then the slaves would continue to live, work, and die in utterly degrading conditions; die under her authority – since she was the monarch of the Storm Peaks for the year, albeit not an absolute one.

Lyra set her jaw as the freezing wind whipped at her hair. 

She knew what she had to do. She knew her duty, which trumped any other order, oath, or obligation – although she knew she wasn’t going to like having to do it.

And then suddenly they were at the peak, atop which lay a large circular domed structure held up by immense columns of blackish stone banded in a coppery-brass metal that Lyra couldn’t immediately identify.

Seated in the centre was a massive man, perhaps thirty feet tall and clad in dark metal armour set with blue gemstones that arced with lightning. He looked vaguely Vrykul, but rather than tan or frost-blue skin, his body was made up of sparkling bronze metal. On his head he wore a crown of lightning that was vaguely reminiscent of the one she currently wore on her own brow, although unlike her, his eyes matched the sparking headwear.

Lyra was suddenly struck by the fact this was a being unlike anything she had ever met. Thorim gave off the sense of being so far beyond her that she was but the smallest ant next to him.

He stirred as Lyra shakily dismounted from her drake and handed the reigns to Khadgar, not quite able to meet his eye, before moving forward, coming to a stop some thirty feet from the giant.

“I am Lyra Wolfheart of the Kirin Tor,” she said, following the formal greeting she had been told that morning. “I am the victor of the Hyldsmeet, and come to ask a boon of you.”

The giant peered at her for several long moments before speaking, apparently more to himself than to her. “Am I going senile, or are the Vrykul growing smaller with each passing year?”

“I am not a Vrykul,” she said. “I am a Half-Elf.”

“Hmm,” he said to himself. “The ears do look vaguely Trollish...”

Then he shrugged.

“Speak then Hylddronning.”

Lyra took a deep breath, almost feeling Khadgar’s gaze physically bore into her back. She hoped he’d be able to forgive her.

“I ask that you change the Laws of the Storm Peaks to emancipate the men enslaved by the Hyldnir, and outlaw slavery in its entirety.”

She felt Khadgar’s magic flex in outrage behind her, but she ignored him. She had to do this. She had to.

“I am sorry small one, my heart still beats for-” he began, before he cut himself off. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I ask that-”

He laughed, a deep booming sound that seemed to shake the entire mountain. “Oh, it has been a very long since someone has not asked me to take them as my mate,” he said. “What is this? Slavery? Very well, I abolish it’s practice.”

He waved his hand lazily and there was a horrifically powerful burst of arcane power as a giant scroll appeared in front of her.

“If that is all?” he said, turning his gaze away from her; more of a statement, less of a question.

“There is… there is one more thing,” she said. “There is an infestation of undead, which has taken root to the west of here, and spreads over much of this continent. I, and others are battling them – is it possible you could assist us?”

Thorim raised a metal eyebrow. “The affairs of mortals are not my concern, and you have already asked your boon. Come back next year if you wish me to consider this request.”

He looked away and Lyra realised she was dismissed. Rather than pointlessly antagonising the Titan, or being so close one as to make little difference she bowed and turned, heading back towards Khadgar, who fixed her with a furious expression.

“Lyra,” he said in a deadly calm voice as she was securing the large scroll tube to her mount’s saddle, the kind of voice she had only ever heard him use on other people he was very unhappy with. “Do you know what a being like that could have done for the war effort? What possessed you to ask-”

“It was right,” she said, finishing the last strap and adding a few sticking charms for good measure. “No one should be enslaved.”

“I do not disagree as to it’s rightness,” he said. “But how many men will be saved? A few thousand across the entire region perhaps? How many more lives would be saved with Thorim on our side?”

“I do not know, I am not a mathematician,” said Lyra. “And I cannot know the future, and neither can you. I can only do what I know is right, here, in this moment. And in this moment I know I cannot turn my back on those languishing in chains.”

“But the consequences-”

“Damn the consequences!” she said, jabbing her finger at him. “This is right. No one is a means to an end; if I violate that principle I violate the most basic corner-stone of what I believe. I could free them, therefore it was my duty. I would not use them as a means to a tactical advantage in this war. A person’s ethics are a set of boundaries, not loose guidelines; if you wanted that sort of moral flexibility you should have taken the Argent-fucking-Crusade as an apprentice. When it was you or someone else making the call and I was dragged along there was little I could do, but this was my decision; and there is no world in which I could have chosen otherwise.”

Khadgar glared at her. “Lyra, the Kirin Tor is at war, and although our command structure is somewhat looser than other armies, it exists. I am not only your Master, but a member of Dalaran’s executive body – the equivalent of a Field Marshal. I gave you a direct order, and you wilfully disobeyed me. There are consequences for that Lyra, you will face a court-martial. And it is possible you will be expelled from the Kirin Tor entirely.”

“I never told you how I beat the Wolf, did I?” said Lyra, returning her mentor’s glare.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I discovered something about myself,” she said. “That I will never give up, and I will never give in. Not to the Wolf, not to the Scourge, and not to you. I know I’m right. That is enough. Punish me however you see fit – but after I have delivered this to Brunnhildar.”

Lyra jumped onto her drake and directed it into the air, not waiting for Khadgar to shift before flapping off in the direction of the Vrykul village. 

Khadgar followed, but at a distance, and when she arrived back at the village he didn’t transform, instead perching on one of the houses as Lyra removed the scroll from her mount and strode forward to a raised section of snow. Below the rise were the assembled clans, waiting to hear her first words as their new leader.

“Hylddronning Wolfheart,” said the Arbiter. “You have communed with Thorim? Did he take you as mate?”

“That is not what I asked,” said Lyra, holding out the scroll towards the woman. “This is a dictate from Thorim, a new law. Read it to the assembly, please.”

The woman took the scroll, which didn’t look so comical in her much larger hands. She opened it, her blue face turning white as she read it’s contents.

“You can’t do this,” she hissed.

“They are the words of Thorim – are you prepared to go against him?” said Lyra, staring down the much taller woman – which was hard, given that she had to strain her neck looking up just to meet her gaze.

The woman scowled a moment more, before taking a deep breath and turning to the crowd.

“This is a scroll passed onto us from the mighty Thorim, a new Holy Law,” said the woman. There were confused whispers through the crowd, Lyra got the impression that there had been no changes to the law in hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. “It reads: I Thorim Stormkeeper, Avatar of Golganneth, do hereby proclaim that slavery in all its forms, including but not limited to the enslavement of men-folk, is hereby abolished in the Storm Peaks. All slaves are to be released immediately and recognised as full members of Hyldnir society, and be afforded all relevant social rights, protections, and opportunities.”

There was dead silence as the woman finished speaking, and the shock and surprise was palpable. The Hyldnir had probably expected something strange, given that Lyra was not Vrykul, but she doubted that any of them could have seen that coming.

“Well?” said Lyra, forcing a confidence into her voice she did not really feel. “Did you not hear Thorim’s words? Go – free them now, give them blankets and food, find them shelter.”

“Hylddronning,” said Yvette, one of the Vrykul women she had fought, who was near the front of the crowd. “Why did you ask this of him? The Menfolk are lazy, base, lustful creatures, fit only for menial labour, not suited to the honour and glory of battle.”

“That is untrue,” said Lyra. “Do you wish to know from whom I learnt my skills? The man who came with me, Khadgar, is not my servant, he is my mentor, my teacher, and my friend. You say that the Hyldsmeet removes the weakest and shows true strength? If he could compete there is not a person amongst you who could stand against him. He has a hundred times the power that I do, and could unmake this town with a wave of his hand.

“It is true that some men are lazy, base, and lustful as you say Yvette, but that does not make their enslavement any less unjust, nor does it make you any less crippled by your lack of recognition of their person-hood. We are, all of us, more than just a singular will and ego, we are forged by our bonds, or lack their of, with others. When you do not recognise another sapient being as a person – man or woman – you cut out a small part of yourself, you make yourself smaller, meaner, and yes, weaker.”

There were a few confused looks, and Lyra knew that she probably hadn’t gotten through to anyone, but none the less many shuffled off towards the mine where most of the slaves were kept.

A few minutes later they returned, leading the now freed men out into the sparkling morning sunshine. The women scowled at them as they distributed blankets and food, but they distributed them nonetheless. Their entire culture revolved around the laws of Thorim, and Lyra knew that regardless of what they felt, they would follow his word. It would probably be hard, for a while, but she hoped that one day the women would be able to look back on it as a positive development in their society.

“Arbiter,” said Lyra, turning to her. “My role of Hylddronning is to enforce the laws of Thorim, is it not?”

“Correct,” said the woman. “As well as give direction to the clans in their wars, and arbitrate disputes between the clans.”

“Tasks you would be capable of, yes?”

“Of course,” said the woman. “I was once Hylddronning, for three years even; and there is provision for such an act in the past.”

“Then I entrust you with keeping the laws while I am away – especially the new laws regarding slavery, and battling the Scourge. I must… well, I believe I am probably returning to Dalaran now. And I may not be able to return. However, before I go I would like you to send an emissary to the Kirin Tor and open diplomatic channels – I believe Agnetta would be well suited, or perhaps Yvette.”

Lyra removed her crown and passed it to her.

“I cannot take that, you are Hylddronning,” she said firmly. “For the year it is yours to wear, and yours alone.”

Lyra huffed, but put it into her bag. The thing was enchanted in a way she hadn’t quite worked out yet – so at least it would give her something to do while the Kirin Tor were figuring out what they were going to do with her. “Alright, I’ll make sure it finds it’s way back here before the next Hyldsmeet if I don’t return myself.”

“As you say Hylddronning Wolfheart,” said the Arbiter, giving her a vaguely orcish salute. “Good hunting.”

Lyra nodded to the woman and wandered back to where the Raven was waiting for her.

It flapped down and landed on her shoulder, eyeing her for a few moments before speaking.

“Lyra,” he said. “We are returning to Dalaran.”

“I thought we would be.”

“It gives me no joy to have to do this,” he said.

“We can only ever follow our conscience.”

*

(Note 1) For all those people from the US who might be confused by the use of the word ‘Republican,’ I am using it in its ‘rest-of-the-world’ sense, since that is where I’m from, which, if you didn’t know, means someone opposed to Monarchy as a system of government.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Tzargo," said Modera, looking at Lyra as she stood impassively before the Council of Six. "Please read the first item on the agenda."

They were all in the large domed room where the Council of Six held their meetings once a week, and where Lyra had spent many an hour sitting in Tzargo's place, taking minutes and announcing the agenda items for the rotating chair.

"The court-martial of Lyra Zaraithus, apprentice to Archmage Khadgar," said Modera's Apprentice, a young troll man Lyra had a bit of a thing for. "She is charged with insubordination and disobeying a direct order by her mentor, Archmage Khadgar."

Lyra had occasionally even been present for court-martials while in Tzargo's place.

Some had just been scared mages who had disobeyed orders or deserted. Some had been corrupt, self-interested, or incompetent.

A few had been traitors to the Kirin Tor who had aided the Scourge. They were all rotting in the Violet Hold under the maximum sentence – life imprisonment.

"Lyra, do you wish to enter a guilty plea?" asked Modera.

Lyra had spent the better part of a week while she'd been locked in the low security section of the Violet Hold thinking about this meeting, about what she would do, about how she would defend herself.

It was pointless to try and claim she wasn't guilty of breaking Dalaranese military law _,_ she had done so flagrantly and deliberately.

Her only chance of retaining her apprenticeship, as far as she could see, was to convince the council that she had been right to break the law.

That wouldn't have flown anywhere except Dalaran, where mages thought that separation of powers was for people who couldn't manipulate reality with their minds.

In the city of magic the Council of Six was the judiciary, executive, and legislature all in one. Although there _were_ other bodies like the Academic Senate that had some power, as well as endless subcommittees with some power to create policy, final say was ultimately all in the hands of six people.

Still, even if they could unmake or flout their own law, Lyra knew that some of the Archmages wouldn't go for her arguments at all.

Jaina, despite an early rebellious phase was now a pretty by the book woman, invested in procedure and precedent. What was more, Lyra knew that what she had done was in a sense the inverse of the famous woman's actions before the battle of Hyjal. Lyra would be hard pressed to convince a woman who had been willing to sacrifice her own father for the 'greater good,' since Lyra's defence was that she had been right in insisting that it was her unshakeable duty to emancipate the slaves, even though it possibly compromised some other, larger goal.

Krasus was a red dragon, a flight that had the reputation of being legally minded. But there were two sides to that mindset: on one hand the word of Alexstraza was pretty much sacrosanct unshakeable law, but on the other hand a dragon's duty was seen as the core of their being. If she could convince him that not only did she believe it was her duty to free the slaves, but that it was also consistent with several of his own ideas about ethics, she might be able to sway him.

Rhonin, the mage who had been bought in to replace Runeweaver, was another unknown. He was the youngest of the Six and had a reputation as a bit of a maverick, although whether or not that meant he would actually side with her she didn't know. He was also well known to be allied to the Red Flight, so he might just defer to Krasus for all she knew.

Aethas was a two thousand year old Highborn Sin'dorei Magister. Although he had broken with Kael'thas, Sin'dorei nobles were renowned for their conservatism – and she suspected that meant that he was probably pretty legalistically mined. Also, although he'd never articulated any bigotry towards her, most Sin'dorei nobility disliked half-elves on principle. Maybe she was doing him a disservice, but she couldn't imagine that he would side with her.

Modera was probably the only one who she could say for certain would be willing to go easy on her. The woman was pragmatic and didn't give a fig about appearances or precedent, and also viewed compassion as an important virtue. What was more, Lyra knew her quite well, since of all the council the female Archmage spent the most time with her mentor, and had even shared a few tips and tricks for frost magic with her.

Finally, Khadgar. He had bought the charges against her and was her mentor, so he'd probably abstain. Although he might weigh in anyway and argue for a lighter punishment. But then again, he had been _furious_ with her. He could well view what she had done as a personal betrayal, and she'd never really been in a position like that with him, so she wasn't sure she could predict his response.

All that meant that she could probably depend on one sympathetic Archmage, and two unsympathetic ones. Her ability to win over Krasus and Rhonin was her only chance to get the charges dropped or getting off with just a rap over the knuckles.

"I do," she said, entering her plea. "For both charges."

"And are you aware that depending on the council's deliberations," said Modera. "A guilty plea could see you expelled from the ranks of the Kirin Tor, or imprisoned?"

"I am."

"Khadgar," said Modera. "Could you please summarise the details surrounding the charges you have made against your apprentice?"

"Of course," he said, clearing his throat and refusing to look Lyra in the eye. "A little over a week ago Lyra and I were on our way to search for Ulduar, on a mission for the council, when we were attacked by some Frost Vrykul hunters from the Hyldnir, who thought Lyra was a beast while in her wolven form. When it was revealed that she was not, they invited her to their city. She accepted, with my urging, in the hopes of opening diplomatic ties. When we arrived the city was swarming with Vrykul who had arrived from all over the region to take part in a tournament to determine the ruler, and which was to be held the next day – the Hyldsmeet.

"It emerged that the only way the Kirin Tor could be recognised diplomatically by the Vrykul, who like us are at war with the Scourge, was to have a member compete in the tournament. As a man I was disbarred due to their matriarchal laws, so Lyra entered, and despite my worries she bested every opponent with skill and tenacity, including a powerful Paladin who she very nearly tore apart in her wolven form.

"Winning granted her the title of ' _Hylddronning_ ,' or 'Queen of the Hyldnir' in the Vrykul's Titan dialect, which entitled her under an ancient compact to ask Thorim, a Titan Keeper, for a boon. I explicitly ordered her to ask him to join the war on our side, but she disobeyed me, instead asking him to outlaw slavery in the Vrykul society – which was applied to every male born into their society as well as any men they captured during raids. She _did_ attempt to ask Thorim to assist us, but only after securing the slave's freedom."

"Was your apprentice aware of how powerful a Titan Keeper was?" asked Krasus.

"She was."

"Lyra, have you anything to say in your defence?" asked Modera.

Lyra took a deep breath and tried too project as much self-confidence as she could.

"Freeing the slaves was the right action to take. I make no apologies. Khadgar was wrong."

"That is not your decision to make," said Jaina Proudmoore, pursing her lips. "You are an apprentice. The chain of command exists for a reason, and there are those wiser and more experienced than you – a girl of barely twenty."

"Respectfully Archmage, that is nonsense," said Lyra, stiffening her back and looking the woman in the eye. Jaina was a scary woman, and Modera and Krasus were pretty much the only people on the Council who weren't intimidated by her. The latter because he was a dragon, the former because she was the definition of stubborn.

Jaina raised a blonde eyebrow. _"Excuse me?"_

"Everyone, regardless of who they are, or what rank they hold within an organisation, is ultimately answerable only to their conscience. We are not machines, and for us to become so opens the door for a culture of mindless obedience that cannot but end it war-crimes akin to the Argent Crusade's," said Lyra. "I would not, and could not, take an action which I thought to be ethically wrong. It was my duty to free the slaves, a duty that goes beyond any oath I made to the Kirin Tor."

"So you believe it to be ethical to condemn an unknown amount of men and women to death at the hands of the Scourge, as the result of Thorim not entering the war on our side?" asked Rhonin, steeping his fingers.

Lyra was grateful that he had cut across the tirade that she could see Jaina working herself into, but she didn't know him well enough to read the motive behind the question – was he trying to corner her, or set her up into a better position to defend herself?

"I do not know the future Archmage Rhonin. But what I do believe is that no one, no matter how small, is a means to an end. To abrogate that is to betray the duty of all sapients to one another," she said. "Freeing slaves when given the opportunity is one such duty. The ends cannot justify the means. Moreover this council, whether it realises it or not, already agrees with me on this point."

"Oh?" said Rhonin. "Continue."

"Archmage Krasus, we are all aware of your nature and connection to life here, could you tell me why you and your people are personally opposed to necromancy?"

"Because it is an affront to life," said Krasus instantly, a disgusted look passing over his face.

Lyra suppressed a smile, to a red dragon such a thing was _visceral_ , and it had been an easy point to win. Now to draw it out. Hopefully she hadn't misjudged the Wyrm.

"Exactly. You outlaw the use of necromantic magic despite the fact that it is readily acknowledged that if studied it could be use to disrupt the Scourge's armies," said Lyra. "You recognise that it is inherently abhorrent and cannot be employed to achieve _any_ end; that the binding of another's soul is an evil unto itself. Is not the total subordination of another's will via slavery akin to necromancy? And if so, it is not therefore as unjustifiable as necromancy?"

"I can see the analogy," said the ancient dragon after a few moments of thought.

"Then you agree with me, Archmage, that the means cannot justify the ends?" she said. "That a raw cost-benefit analysis is insufficient when dealing with ethical quandaries?"

The red dragon sat back and smiled, knowing she had boxed him into a corner. "I suppose I do."

"And is the rest of the council also in agreement with you on that point?" asked Lyra, looking around, although focusing her gaze mainly on Modera and Rhonin.

There were a few glances, and one or two nods of agreement. Although Proudmoore looked annoyed and Aethas looked somewhat sceptical. Good, that was what she had expected.

"Then you agree that Khadgar was incorrect in his assessment of my ethical duty?" said Lyra. "And that therefore I was correct to disobey him? That does seem to logically follow from your acceptance of my argument."

"You are a skilled debater Lyra," said Modera as she sat back. "But we are not here to argue ethics; you broke the law by disobeying a direct order. What's more, you did so knowingly and deliberately – and seem to indicate you would take the same decision again."

"That is correct," said Lyra, feeling her heart fall a little as victory seemed to slip through her fingers. "But surely if this is as enlightened a city as we like to claim, then surely the law should attempt to follow ethics."

"Is does not always follow ought," said Modera, shaking her head. "I am not sure that there is anything more to be gained from questioning Apprentice Lyra, since she seems uninterested in arguing law and has admitted her guilt. Is the council ready to deliberate?"

There were some nods.

"Very well," said Modera. "Khadgar, given your close bond with your apprentice, and that you brought the charge against her, do you agree it would be best for you to abstain from voting?"

"I guess so, yes," he said.

"Then let us begin," said Modera. "I can see you're almost bursting to speak Jaina, I give you the floor."

"She broke the law, disobeyed a direct order," said the Kul Tiran woman, her voice hot with irritation. Apparently Lyra had really annoyed her. Oops. "She should be expelled from her apprenticeship, and the Kirin Tor; although, despite her _cheek_ , I do not believe that incarceration is necessary or desirable in this case – she did not disobey out of cowardice, nor any desire for personal gain."

How magnanimous of her, thought Lyra, she only thought that Lyra should be exiled from everything and everyone she had ever known for following her conscience.

"But surely there is some degree of leeway?" said Rhonin, surprising Lyra by coming in to bat for her. "Especially for our apprentices. There is a reason that they sit on these meetings and take the minutes, we all know we are grooming them for leadership. Lyra took a decision that many of us agree with, and did not do it, as you point out, act with cowardice. In fact, it took a courage that some on this council do not seem to possess – aren't they exactly the qualities we should be cultivating in a future member of the Six?"

"Disobedience as a virtue?" said Aethas. "The Kirin Tor is not a rabble Rhonin."

"And you've never disobeyed orders Aethas?" asked Rhonin. "What about when you broke with Kael'thas? Treason is the height of rule-breaking. And yet you, and thousands of your fellows, did it."

"He betrayed _us_ ," said Aethas coldly.

"Still, you concede that sometimes ethical commitment outweighs an oath?"

"That decision was taken by the entire Magisterium in Silvermoon," replied Aethas. "Not a single girl who is barely an adult."

"Would the decision to oppose Kael'thas have been any less right if only one person had taken the stand, even just a single young woman?"

"I suppose not," said Aethas, rubbing his chin. Huh, she hadn't expected that, maybe she hadn't been fair in her assessment of the Blood Elf.

"Then how can you condemn a young woman as courageous as you and your own fellows were when faced with orders you could not in good conscience follow?"

"I admit, I am now in two minds," said Aethas after a few moments.

"Krasus?" asked Modera as the council drew silent.

"I cannot fault her argument," said the dragon. "I believe she is correct in her assessment of slavery as being an evil akin and related to the horror of necromancy. I would argue for a reprimand in her record, but nothing more."

"Just so," said Rhonin. "Although I would argue for a commendation, rather than a reprimand."

"You are such a child," said Jaina. "Rhonin, we _cannot_ encourage Lyra's behaviour in others. What would happen to the discipline in our armies if they knew that disobeying orders was rewarded?"

"Perhaps they would think more for themselves," said Rhonin. "And if they acted as their conscience dictated, we might be a far healthier society."

"That is idealist nonsense."

"Says the woman who disobeyed her father and trusted the Horde," said Rhonin. "Even though it resulted in your father's death."

" _How dare you_ \- that was completely different," snarled Jaina, slamming her hand down on the oak table so hard that icicles formed and shattered around her fist. "That was an action taken because I knew the consequences of not doing so would be the destruction of this world at the hands of the Legion."

"So while your ethical framework is opposed to Lyra's, you admit it was a decision taken to do what you thought was right, rather than obeying the Grand Admiral of the Alliance as was your legal duty? And your father, as was was your filial duty?"

"Like Khadgar's apprentice you are adept at twisting words Rhonin, but I remain unconvinced," said Jaina, glaring daggers. "And we _shall_ _have a discussion_ about abusing my father's memory to further your arguments once this meeting is concluded."

Rhonin shivered slightly, but refused to shrink from her gaze.

"Like Aethas I am in two minds," said Modera, tapping her fingers on the table in front of her. "On one hand she admits to flagrantly disobeying an order. On the other, the Kirin Tor has never been in the business of cultivating mindless drones. And even if Lyra is not prepared to be pragmatic, I am. I have had the opportunity to get to know her quite well over the past few years, and I have always been impressed not only by her diligence to her studies, her intelligence, but also her unflinching and unwavering moral compass.

"More than that, she has proven herself an asset to the Kirin Tor time and time again. She is no coward. In the first few months of her apprenticeship she took an action she thought sucidal to save Dalaran from a leyline attack which would have destroyed out city. She fought in the vanguard of the largest battle of the Nexus War despite having just begun her studies. She forged the first and most important bonds with two societies we now count as allies against the Scourge – first the Rainspeakers, and now the Hyldnir. And the way Khadgar tells the story, it is mainly thanks to her that we were not overrun and turned to Worgen by a traitor in our midst – a traitor _she_ slew.

"Perhaps the war will be more difficult without the Titan Keeper's assistance, but we would have already lost Dalaran twice over if not for her. Such a glowing record must be taken into account when deciding the severity of the punishment she receives. It is quite clearly not in the Kirin Tor's best interest to exile a woman who is not only amongst the most powerful and intelligent mages of her generation, but also someone I am certain will be sitting on this council one day. Especially when we gain nothing by exiling her. As for a reprimand, I suppose it is the best course of action – although it seems a futile gesture. How does one actually punish someone who believes themselves right and has proven themselves time and again willing to pay any price for actions the believe to be correct?"

"No one disputes her contributions and achievements," said Jaina. "But if we give her preferential treatment it will set a terrible precedent. The Six must be seen as impartial, we cannot simply waive the law for our students when it suits us. No, she _must_ be expelled and exiled."

"So you would throw away one of our successors and exile Lyra to a life of unimaginable hardship to make an abstract point?" said Rhonin heatedly, real venom creeping into his voice. "I suppose it is unlikely, _Lady_ Proudmoore, that you realise how difficult life would be for Lyra outside these walls, given the colossal size of the silver spoon you were born with in your mouth. So let me spell it out for you, in all other human realms – _including Theramore,_ which copied it's laws from Kul Tiras – half-elves are forbidden from joining the mage colleges, the military, or any civil service. They cannot own property, and cannot become full citizens. When last I visited Stormwind with my family the scorn that my sons faced reduced them to tears."

Lyra blinked in surprise. She had known he had a high elf partner, but not that they had had children together. It made a bit more sense why he seemed so heavily invested in defending her.

"She would also be unable to live in Quel'thalas," continued Rhonin. "Since there is not a single case in history of one of the Houses recognising a half-elf as part of their bloodline. Perhaps her only option would be to settle in one of the crime-riddled free-ports like Booty Bay or Ratchet, where she would most likely be forced to scrape by doing odd-enchanting jobs. There is a reason that Dalaran is home to most of the world's half-elves, everywhere else is hellish for them."

"The point of punishment is that it is unpleasant," said Jaina, shifting uncomfortably. "Thanks to her decision, untold thousands of people will likely die without the assistance of the Keeper. This is not a victimless crime. Can you honestly tell me you would be able to look a grieving mother in the eye and tell her that their son or their daughter had to die to sate the inflexible and impulsive 'ethics' of a woman barely grown?"

"Inflexible and impulsive?" said Rhonin. "Another word for 'inflexible' in 'principled,' and there was nothing impulsive about her decision. Lyra is not stupid, she chose to do what she believed was right knowing that it would come at an immense personal cost. The fact that you are prepared to be so cold and calculating towards a brave young woman shows the rigid deficiencyof your own ethics, Proudmoore, not hers," he said. "And let us not forget that the opportunity to ask Thorim for assistance was a scenario created by her own skill and tenacity, and was not a forgone conclusion. We do not even know if he would have agreed: as I understand it, the Keeper is under no obligation to actually grant the requested boon – he does not wed every winner of the tourney."

"You didn't answer the question," said Jaina.

"Could I look a grieving mother in the eye and say that their child died fighting against the Scourge, and maybe, just maybe, that it was related to a decision of one of the members of the Kirin Tor, who refused to allow a group of people to continue to be enslaved? Yes I could, and moreover, as a soldier in this conflict, I don't _want_ our victory to come on the back of such horror. This is an existential conflict, but I refuse to believe that means everything is permissible."

"Rhonin is right," said Krasus. "As is Apprentice Lyra. Slavery is an evil akin to necromancy, it would have been a great stain on the Kirin Tor for us to ally with a force that routinely employed such a practice. Many a dark path has been laid through indifference and willingness to ignore short term suffering and immorality in the name of some long term goal. The charges against her should be dismissed."

"You simultaneously argue that the ends cannot justify the means, and that we should break our own laws to achieve the end of retaining a supposedly well intentioned criminal in the Kirin Tor?" said Jaina. "You are being contradictory."

"She is not a criminal, she has been convicted of nothing," said Rhonin. "And you are arguing dishonestly – that is not our position: Krasus and I are saying that the abstract law of the Kirin Tor is insufficient in this case for dealing with the complexities of the reality – not that it everything should be thrown out."

"You are as impulsive and child-like as ever Rhonin. This is why I insisted you were not ready to sit on this council."

"And yet the rest of your colleagues disagreed. Perhaps that should serve as an indication that your judgement is not as flawless as the sycophantic court back on that swampy isle of yours would have you believe, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina's face contorted, and Lyra thought for a moment that a duel might break out then and there. Thankfully Modera was one of the better chairs and nipped things in the bud.

"Enough. Aethas, you haven't spoken much," said Modera, cutting across them. "Thoughts?"

"I am unsure that the charges should be dropped entirely, the law must be seen to still be upheld to some degree… but I would be in favour of no more than a reprimand."

"It would seem then that expulsion and exile is off the table," said Modera. Jaina huffed and crossed her arms, looking away. "Khadgar, you might not be voting, but we should probably hear your perspective too."

"I still think that Lyra was wrong in her actions, but I now better understand her reasoning. That said, I am relieved that she will not be expelled – that would destroy her, and I do not know how I would be able to deal with it either," said Khadgar, trailing off for a moment and looking at Lyra for the first time in a week. She met his gaze briefly before looking down at her hands. "As for punishment? She doesn't think she has done anything wrong, and she's more stubborn than you Mod', what does a reprimand do except make us look petulant? What's more, since that would exclude her from diplomatic functions, she'd likely view it as a reward. She _hates_ those things."

"It seems that apart from having diametrically opposed ethical systems you're peas in a pod," said Modera. "Now then, if there is no further discussion, I move we vote on her punishment, or lack thereof."

"Seconded," said Rhonin.

"Very well, it seems there have been three options presented. Firstly, by Archmage Proudmoore, expulsion from the Kirin Tor and exile. Secondly, by Rhonin: dismissal of charges-"

"And a commendation," he cut in, earning him a glare from Jaina.

"- _and_ a commendation. And thirdly, by myself, that she receive a formal reprimad. Is that everyone else's understanding?"

There were nods around the table.

"Very well, all in favour of option one?"

Jaina raised her hand.

"Two?"

Krasus and Rhonin.

"Three?"

Aethas and Modera raised their hands.

"Then we have a tie between options two and three; Jaina since your vote was voided, you have the deciding vote."

"Three, obviously," she said throwing up her hands. "There must be _some_ punishment."

Lyra slumped in relief.

"Then we have majority," said Modera. "Apprentice Lyra, you will receive a formal reprimand for your insubordination and mutinous behaviour. You will be censured for a period of six months from attending formal events on behalf of the Kirin Tor – although apparently you won't view that as punishment – and will have your stipend reduced by three-fourths for the same duration."

"Um, if I may just cut in," said Khadgar. "Given that Lyra is, um, the Queen of the Hyldnir for the next year, we may wish to exclude those events from her prohibition – we don't want to offend our new rather, ah, _mercurial_ allies by, err, 'grounding' their Queen."

"Very well, censured from all other events not pertaining to the Hyldnir," said Modera after glancing around the council and seeing several nods. "I believe this matter is closed then, Apprentice Lyra, you are dismissed. Tzargo, please read the next item."

* * *

Lyra suddenly realised she had been reading the same paragraph over and over again for the past twenty minutes as the door to the apartment opened and she heard Khadgar enter.

There was a knock on her door a moment later.

She hadn't been looking forward to this.

"Come in," she said, marking her page and turning in her chair as Khadgar sat on her bed opposite her desk.

"Lyra," he said. "I want you to know, this wasn't personal."

"I know," she said.

"I still think you were wrong," he said firmly. "And that many more people will die before this war is over because of your decision."

"We have had this argument before," she said.

"Yes, it seems we had entirely different ideas about deciding what the right course of action is," he said. "I suppose I can understand, to some degree, your perspective; it is very you, and I suppose in a way I even admire the strength of conviction it must bring you. But what hurts most is that you lied to me – mislead me into thinking you were going to ask Thorim to join us."

"I knew you would try to stop me," she said. "And if you recall, I didn't actually lie – I merely said 'I heard you.'"

"Lyra, you knew how I would take it. It was a lie."

"I- yes, you're right, I'm sorry Khadgar."

"I accept your apology," he said. "Now, pack your bag."

"You're kicking me out?" she said, looking at her hands. She supposed she could understand that.

"What?" he said. "No Lyra, we are going to pick our expedition to Ulduar back up again – it will be much quicker now that you can just requisition one of those drakes from your, ahem, _new subjects_."

"Oh," she said flushing and standing, grabbing her pack from where she kept it by her door, throwing in a spare pair of clothes, a few books, and a notepad and pen.

"Lyra – did, did you really think I was going to kick you out?"

"I lied to you, and not just 'where are the biscuits?''Modera ate them all.' I could understand if you didn't want me here anymore."

"Lyra," he said. "Do you _really_ believe that I would kick you out?"

She shrugged.

"I thought I'd made it clear you'd always be welcome here when you were cursed and might have had to give up your magic," he said. "This is about the orphanage isn't it? The feelings of abandonment that-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, cutting off Khadgar.

"Lyra-"

"I _don't_ want to talk about it," she repeated, debating as to whether or not to pack her fold up telescope, anything to not have to look at Khadgar. She might have had to face that part of herself with Goldrinn, but she was not interested in revisiting it any time soon with him or anyone else.

"Well, alright, I won't pry," he said. "Just know that I'll be here if and when you feel like you're ready to share. And even if we have fallings out from time to time, I'm not going to evict you. Even if you lied to me, even if you disobeyed me in my role as your Master; you're still my best friend, and I know you did all of it all because you thought it was right."

Lyra decided to pack the telescope, it wasn't like it would weight much in her enchanted bag, and there might be some clear nights up in the mountains. Although the location of celestial objects wasn't particularly important in day to day magic, more complicated rituals and enchantments required a mage to have a firm grasp of the way the stars and planets affected the twisting nether and the flow of arcane power.

"Alright, ready," she said, tossing her pack over her shoulder. "I'll just need to visit a shop on the way to get some coffee – I imagine you want to do the same thing, only with a much larger amount of chocolate and sweets."

"Of course," he said with white teeth that only a mage could have with his diet. "Let's get going then, we still have a few hours of daylight left, and we can probably reach the foothills before nightfall if we hurry.

 

 


End file.
